


Questions Posed on Earth

by NebulousMistress



Series: The Shadow Over Atlantis [11]
Category: Cthulhu Mythos - Fandom, Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft, Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen, Men in Black - Freeform, Post-Series, Weekly World News, antics, atlantis on earth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-09 14:59:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7806379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NebulousMistress/pseuds/NebulousMistress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Atlantis has landed on Earth and now there are questions to be answered. The military realizes this city doesn't have an anchor, right? And who's watching the scientists? When did we get a boat? What about R'lyeh?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How was the landing?

The great fireball streaked across the morning sky, screaming across the sunrise as it headed soundlessly east. It turned night into morning, morning into midday as it burned, a bright meteor larger than any ever seen by living human witness. It must have been a mile across, more than big enough for NASA Skywatch to put out a bulletin, the International Asteroid Warning Network to shout for data, and the NEO-Program to start screaming.

And then it all went silent.

The ISS feed went dark, NASA Skywatch was shut down, and the NEO-Program quickly retracted their statements. Only IAWN kept posting updates, demanding data, calling their army of unaffiliated amateurs to the field to watch as the meteor broke through the atmosphere and coalesced into a disc of metal spires and broad piers surrounded by a glowing orange shield of energy.

The tsunami that arose when it hit was devastating, swamping the coast, but no reliable news ever surfaced. There were only rumors of devastated coastline and men in suits who quickly descended turning outrage into silence.

Same as how no one spoke about the spires that faded from view as the gigantic structure floated lazily south as the current grabbed it.

South toward San Francisco.

*****

The cloak was up. The cloak was up and they were on Earth.

Radek Zelenka gripped the railing in the gateroom tight as he realized what that meant.

They were on Earth.

Shit.

He tapped his radio, asking Chuck to put him on the city-wide speakers. “This is Dr. Zelenka, acting head of sciences,” he said, his voice echoing through the labs and corridors. “We are at Code Viper-Two-Nine, I repeat, Viper Twenty Nine. This is not a drill. Carry out your tasks, remain calm, remember yourselves. That is all.”

Zelenka cut the feed as Chuck took him off the city-wide. Zelenka himself took a deep breath before turning to head to his labs, to carry out his own part of this code. He didn't get very far.

“Dr. Zelenka, a word,” Mr. Woolsey said.

Radek swore under his breath before standing as tall as he could and following. He tried not to think about Code Viper-29 and what it meant.

“Sit,” Woolsey said, gesturing to a chair. His office looked no different than any other day but now... Even now, even though they'd been on Earth mere minutes, it already felt different.

Radek sat, looking oddly imperious.

“What was that?” Woolsey asked. “What is 'code viper 29'?”

Radek took a deep breath. “Is an emergency code,” he said. “Dr. McKay developed it after first death of Dr. Weir. In case of invasion from Earth.”

“Dr. Zelenka, you're **from** Earth,” Woolsey snapped. “Dr. McKay is from Earth. We're all from Earth!”

“It was Dr. McKay's worry that there would be... interference from Earth,” Radek said, trying to be tactful in his explanation. “That military and/or IOA would make demands we were unwilling or unable to meet. Viper-29 is meant to lock down certain experiments, make safe critical areas, and hide certain... activities.”

Woolsey went down a mental list of experiments currently running in the city. Dr. Keller's failed retrovirus was still being studied, Dr. Carson had a few experiments running on the Hoffan drug, Dr. McKay had God-knows-what running, Todd was in the city, there were indeed native plants to lock down in case of invasive spread, airborne pathogens, whatever was living in the city's ballast-waters... “I completely understand the need to keep certain activities of this city secret for the safety of Earth, and yet neither of you deigned to trust me with this protocol?”

Radek shook his head. “Colonel Carter never knew of it,” he said. “Was considered too much risk to allow knowledge outside of science department. Even Colonel Sheppard does not know.”

“This sounds like a coup,” Woolsey warned.

“Is not,” Radek said, holding up his hands. “Okay, maybe it sounds like. Primary purpose is to shut down operations that military does not approve of or will take too much interest in.”

“The military already knows of a few of those,” Woolsey drawled. “I seem to recall reports involving Pirate Pete commandeering an Ensign to be a booth barker.”

Radek winced. “There is... more...”

“More?!” Woolsey demanded.

Radek nodded. “More.”

Pirate Pete's beer and stim production. A well known operation.

Radek's own distillery. An open secret.

The BDSM dungeon run by the mathematicians called the 'North Pier' in a location known only by rumor and misdirection.

The porn forums kept aggressively anonymous due to the strange tastes on display. The North Pier Network it was called. A highly open secret.

The bootleg distribution of entertainment, the unsanctioned genetic splicing of cacao genes, the attempts to breed their own coffee, the production of enough C4 to keep the marines supplied long after the _Daedalus's_ hyperspace crystal goes entropic, all of it kept under plausible deniability.

Woolsey held his head in his hands as though he could hold back the headache. The scientists ran an entire shadow economy beneath the noses of the IOA and the military. And it **worked**. The strange socialistic barter-based economy worked.

“I... don't know any of this,” Woolsey muttered.

Radek looked surprised.

“All right, I know about Pete's beer,” Woolsey amended. “I've traded with him before. But I don't know it goes any further than that. And I certainly don't know about the porn economy or the experiments with breeding Lantean coffee.”

“And the mathematicians?”

Woolsey snorted. “Dr. Zelenka, I worked in Washington for years. If I didn't know about that one the IOA would be disappointed in me. Hell, they'll probably think I've been there. I'm surprised I didn't know about it, to be honest.”

Radek nodded and started sneaking out.

“Do you think they'll have an opening for tomorrow evening?” Woolsey asked.

Radek tried not to cringe at the mental image. “I can put you in contact...”

“Please do,” Woolsey said, trying not to plead. “I have the feeling I'll be in dire need of their services.”

“I will see what can be done.” Radek left.

Woolsey sat back heavily in his chair. His radio beeped. A call from the SGC.

He took a deep breath, fit the earwig into his ear, and took the call.

“Atlantis, this is the SGC.” General Landry's voice came through the tiny earpiece.

“SGC, this is Atlantis, permission to land in the East Pacific Ocean?” Woolsey couldn't help himself. It had been a long day.

“Um, what?”

“More of an FYI,” Woolsey continued. “We have the cloak up but we'll be drifting south past San Francisco in a few days and I know there are shipping lanes to consider.”

“Give us the location so we can have a cordon set up,” Landry said. “How was the flight?”

“Landing was a bit bumpy. We had people on that hive, General, do you have any word?”

“We got gate control back after the superhive was destroyed, we're still checking in with our alternate sites. We'll find them.”

“I hope so,” Woolsey said. A ding on his computer informed him he had a new email from Dr. McKay. Wait, but he'd been on the superhive...

“I hope you're in the mood for guests,” Landry said. “We have Travis AFB sending over some men to aid in lockdown, clean-up, repairs, and assessment.”

“Are you sure that's wise?” Woolsey asked, a cold knot growing in the pit of his belly. “Are they prepared for this sort of thing?”

“It's no problem,” Landry assured. “We'll let you know when he hear from your men. Landry out.”

Woolsey sat back, tension knotting his shoulders. The scientists were right to be paranoid. He opened the email from McKay.

*****

To: All Atlantis Personnel  
From: Dr. M. Rodney McKay  
Re: Code Viper 29

As many of you are now aware, the science teams are right now implementing something called 'Code Viper 29'.

First and foremost, no, this is not a coup. This is an attempt to keep Earth safe from some of the experiments ongoing on Atlantis. It is also an attempt to refrain from offending the fragile American military sensibilities.

As of this moment, the North Pier has been shut down. Yes I am aware the city doesn't actually have a north pier. Those with appointments can still see their respective contacts outside of the confines of the Pier, at the discretion of those contacts.

Sections D24, E7, and G8 through H29 are off limits until further notice. Heed warnings of death and dismemberment, they are as valid now as always. Sections A13 through C2 are accessible to authorized personnel only. All military personnel are requested to stay out of the fucking way. If it is at all possible, all contraband goods will be collected by the mess hall staff and will be held until such a time as Earth is deemed safe. Then all such goods should be dealt with in the most expedient and efficient way possible.

The details of this 'dealing with the goods' will be distributed through the North Pier Network. If you don't have access, and why wouldn't you unless you're a repressed prude, please ask your nearest scientist about the porn.

Get to work.

*****

It was a preprogrammed email. It was carefully manipulative: gave a few details, placated the military, gave some hints of illicit actions, and left it at that. It was not as tactful as Woolsey would have liked, but as he watched the email quietly deleted itself. Probably erased all trace of itself from the servers.

Dr. McKay would be in trouble when the SGC finally found him.

Woolsey knew McKay was expecting it.

*****

By the end of the day Atlantis was playing host to two Blackhawks and a Chinook. There had been arguments about the Chinook over whether or not the city could handle that kind of weight, at least not without releasing ballast water loaded with who knew what type of non-native life forms.

The floors remained just slightly tilted toward the South-West Pier. It was unnerving.

“Gentlemen, this is a floating city, I'm wondering what you're expecting.” Woolsey began the conference. General Landry and General Chandler were present. Three trusted agents of the NID were present, including Bates as he stood in the background. Woolsey knew Bates, knew from his file he'd spent that first year here in Atlantis. Rounding out the conference table were two representatives from the IOA, Russel Chapman and Carl Strom.

“What do you mean?” Landry asked.

“General, this city doesn't have an anchor. We don't stay in one spot. We're not going to be sitting nicely to the north of San Francisco's shipping lanes for long.”

“Wait, the city moves?” asked Chandler.

“Yes, General, the city moves,” Woolsey said, desperately trying not to sigh. “We're expected to interfere with San Francisco shipping lanes in a couple of days. What happens after that depends on if we get swept into the Santa Barbara Channel. I hear there are quite a few little oil rigs we might smash into. Horrible tragedy but we don't really have any way to steer this thing so...”

“Is that some sort of a threat?” Chapman asked.

“No, Sir, it's a statement of fact,” Bates said. “I was stationed here for a year. The city roamed all over Lantea then, too.”

“Either way,” Woolsey continued. “We'll be interfering with Los Angeles shipping lanes in about a month. From there I expect we'll get swept into the equatorial current.”

“And end up in Chinese waters,” Strom said.

“Unless, of course, we're allowed to leave,” Woolsey said.

“Hey now, let's not be hasty,” Landry said. “Atlantis represents a great asset for Earth. With our own control chair gone and our fleet down for repair, this city is our only means of planetary defense.”

Woolsey held back a sigh.

“Atlantis will stay on Earth until further notice,” Chandler said. “Do try to stay in one place.”

Woolsey stopped holding back that sigh. “We'll keep you updated on where we are,” he allowed. “That's the best we can do.”

“Very well,” Chandler said, clearly unhappy.

The meeting went downhill from there.

“Now then, about this 'code viper 29'...”

*****

Woolsey stood on the balcony overlooking the shoreline. The north coast of California looked oddly green in the strange yellow-white light coming from the planet's parent star, the sea a deep blue stained green-brown by its plankton. It suddenly hit him that these were strange colors. That the blue-black sea should be tinged purple, that the plants should be yellowed under the orange-red sun.

That they shouldn't be anywhere near the mainland.

“Hey.”

Woolsey looked over to see Bates leaning on the balcony next to him. Woolsey nodded.

“I can't believe you convinced the brass that 'code viper 29' was all about porn,” Bates said. “Good job.”

Woolsey smirked. “And beer,” he allowed.

“And beer,” Bates agreed.

Woolsey's smirk fell as he found himself staring back out at the mainland, at the coastline. “It's a lot to get used to, being back here.”

“I know, believe me, I know.”

Woolsey nodded. “Lantea's sun was this color, at least. New Lantea's sun, well, the astrophysicists tell me it's a red subgiant and it's getting bigger every day. In a few tens of thousands of years the red sun will undergo a helium flash and strip New Lantea's atmosphere completely.”

Bates whistled. “They picked a good one,” he drawled.

Woolsey shrugged. “I got used to the purple sea and the yellow plants. Now that I'm here... it's all strange again.”

“You went native?” Bates asked.

“Maybe a little. But that's not why I want to get back. There's a lot of unfinished business out there. The Wraith, the rogue Asgard, the Genii, the Coalition...”

“And you gave it all up to defend Earth.”

“It's what we do.”

Bates nodded as he watched the sea.

“And now we have to defend Earth from itself,” Woolsey allowed.

“Hmm?”

“We had to have been seen coming down,” Woolsey said. “We couldn't get the cloak up until after splashdown. There had to be aircraft, boats, satellites... The military won't be able to keep this secret long. I need to know what's already leaked.”

“I could get some people on it,” Bates offered.

Woolsey shook his head. “Not enough. We need to know what's already leaked, yes, but we need to know what gets out over time. We need to know how observant they are. We need to know if they're actively looking or just passively finding.”

“And you know how to do that?” Bates asked.

Woolsey grinned as he leaned over the balcony. He fancied he could see something faintly purple moving in the water, an escapee from the ballast water. “I do. Bates, are you aware of the old procedures?”

“The old...”

“We haven't used them since that movie came out but I think it's time we revisited some of the old ways. How do you feel about black?”

* * *

ALIEN SPACE CITY

Weekly World News – The ISS went dark while a fireball streaked across the Pacific sky this week as what eyewitnesses describe as an alien space city crash-landed in the ocean off of Northern California. The city is said to be over a kilometer in diameter, built like a snowflake with six piers spreading from a tall central tower.

The resulting tsunami struck Northern California and Oregon, wiping out several marinas and causing untold damage. Men in suits descended on the area and soon after the military was brought in. None were willing to identify themselves and this reporter was escorted off the scene in the back of an unmarked blue sedan.

The Navy is conducting an impromptu 'exercise' in the area of the city's impact. Civilian traffic is being turned away and protesters have been arrested.

Any sightings of this city or movements of the naval fleet are encouraged on our website, [www.weeklyworldnews.com](http://www.weeklyworldnews.com/). Our readers are reminded that the city was seen turning itself invisible before the area was locked down.

* * *

METEOR STRIKE IN PACIFIC OCEAN

Associated Press – A meteor was seen in the skies over the North Pacific this morning. Experts say it landed in the Pacific Ocean at 9:53AM local time, causing a tsunami that damaged marinas along Northern California and Oregon. There were no reported injuries.

NASA Skywatch has confirmed the meteor to be a previously unknown asteroid in the 250-500m size range. There is no additional danger expected from this event.


	2. Why do we have a boat?

Woolsey stood on the East Pier, staring incredulously at the 35 foot yacht tied to the city's hull. The boat looked well-used, its paint was patchy white and off-white, its engine was in parts strewn all around the pier, and there were a crowd of bored scientists arguing minutiae like names and flags.

Woolsey grabbed a passing scientist. “Where did this come from?” he demanded. “Who authorized this?”

“I'm not sure, sir.” The scientist escaped, fading back into the group that argued over how best to 'improve' the engine.

Woolsey glared at the boat that bobbed merrily and hoped this wasn't as bad of an idea as he feared.

He stalked back toward the city.

Three days. They'd been on Earth only three days. The Golden Gate Bridge broke the distant coast, a thin red line that might have been prettier in person. Or maybe if the Navy knew where the city was. Woolsey tapped his radio, switching to Chuck in the gateroom.

“There's a ship getting a little close on the south-east,” Woolsey warned. “What do sensors say about it?”

“It's the _USS Howard Hunt_ ,” Chuck said over the radio. “They haven't set off the proximity warnings yet but... No, wait, now they have. Shall I warn them off?”

“Please,” Woolsey said. “And do you know why the scientists have a boat on the East Pier?”

“Colonel Sheppard might know,” Chuck said. “He should be down in the mess.”

“Thank you, Woolsey out.” He squared his shoulders, put on an air of authority, and was jolted out of his attempt by the sounds of alarms and shouting from the _Howard Hunt_ as they over-corrected their course.

Woolsey glared out to sea at the offending Destroyer with its offending bridge and its offending idiots, even the offending yellow sun as he went inside.

It wasn't even a day since Atlantis had their missing personnel back and already there were logistical issues. There were no ships in orbit with beaming capacity and with Atlantis adrift there'd been no agreement over a staging area for cloaked jumpers. Essentially, unless the military flew them in and out there was no way out of the city. Atlantis was as isolated now as they were in Pegasus.

Which, as Woolsey thought about it, made the boat an increasingly good idea. It certainly fit into his own plans.

He found Sheppard in the cafeteria, indulging himself in the most recent shipment of supplies. It was simple fare but there was a novelty to rice pilaf made out of real rice, to beef made of real beef, and to real coffee that hadn't been going stale in the _Daedalus's_ hold for three weeks. A scent hit Woolsey right in the nostalgia, a food he hadn't allowed himself for years. He stared down at the fried chicken, realizing it was indeed chicken, actual chicken and not the tiny dinosaurs on M4X-279 that sort of tasted like chicken.

Woolsey sighed, gave up the fight, and approached Sheppard's table with his tray piled with fried chicken and a single token apple. “May I sit down?” he asked.

Sheppard lifted an eyebrow at Woolsey's plate. “Sure,” he said. “Wait, they have fried chicken?”

“They... did,” Wolsey said sheepishly. “I'm sure there'll be more in a little bit. It's one upside of being on Earth.”

“Yeah,” Sheppard said, poking at his grilled beef. It was supposed to be carne asada but with McKay around the recipe had no lime.

Woolsey rolled up his sleeves, ignored his knife and fork, and dug messily into his hoard. “I see we have a boat,” he said between bites.

“Just a little one,” Sheppard allowed.

“Do I want to know?” Woolsey asked. “Or should I not?”

“McKay had his Veil up. He insisted on being the one registered and, well, who else could make the swim? I think it belongs to the entire science department.”

“Yes, they're doing... things... to it.” Woolsey took another bite of chicken. His eyes closed at the taste of oil and chicken and crust and everything his once-cardiologist disapproved of. He didn't think he was humming but Sheppard was giving him this weird look. He swallowed and tried to look like his face wasn't dripping in oil.

“Things.”

“Things,” Woolsey agreed. “By the time they're done I think it'll run on vacuum energy and seawater and I'll have to veto the flag or name or something because it's too sensitive.”

“Hold that thought,” Sheppard said as the mess hall staff replaced the serving tray of oily crumbs with a tray piled high with fried chicken. He shot to his feet.

Woolsey smirked.

*****

There was no way this should be taken as seriously as it was. And yet Woolsey found himself on a committee with Major Lorne, Dr. McKay, Colonel Sheppard, Dr. Zelenka, Dr. Keller, and Dr. Beckett. Each department head and their second.

All to approve a flag design.

To be fair, Lorne had said, this was a big decision. The flag was how all of the modern countries on Earth presented themselves. It had to be bold, McKay had said. Then Sheppard made a crack about maple leaves and the proceedings paused for a five minute argument.

There was one question on Woolsey's mind that he desperately did not want to ask. He didn't want to know the answer. Why were they treating this so seriously? Did they know something he didn't? Or was this justified paranoia like Code Viper-29?

The designs were inventive, that was apparent.

McKay seemed to favor the stylized face of a snarling Deep One flanked by a bantos rod and a barbed spear. It reminded Woolsey of a variant Jolly Roger.

Zelenka liked a dark field with the stars of Lantea's point of origin bright against the deep blue. This one sparked arguments as Lantea's point of origin hadn't been in the Atlantis address for two years.

Lorne favored the flapping pegasus, rearing bright against a black background. It was pretty but also looked like the logo on some of the local gas stations.

Sheppard suggested an outline of the city. That idea was vetoed quickly due to clearance issues.

So was Beckett's idea of the stargate itself.

Keller didn't have any ideas. Instead she kept asking why they couldn't just use the flag of a real country like everybody else. They'd attract less attention that way.

“Pete will fly the Jolly Roger no matter what we say,” Zelenka warned. “That man is pirate at heart. He has Ronon on his side, has promised him a pirate hat like in movie.”

 _Why does Pete get a say?_ McKay was clearly annoyed, dorsal spines twitching.

“Pete has already volunteered to run shuttle service,” Zelenka said. “His work is stalled on Earth.”

“Fine,” Woolsey said, sighing. “It's just a small cruiser yacht, the Jolly Roger will be less out of place than anything else we come up with.”

_Oh no, he's not flying the Jolly Roger on my ship._

“McKay,” Sheppard warned.

_What? I bought it, it's in my name, it's totally mine, and I'm not running a pirate ship._

“What country do we belong to, McKay?” Lorne asked in a drawling voice.

_Um...Well, none of them._

“So you admit we're an unaffiliated naval power,” Lorne continued. “We even have our own ship now, not to mention the armada of puddlejumpers. And we're currently invading the sovereign waters of another country.”

Rodney huffed and murred as he slumped down in defeat.

“We're pirates,” Woolsey said flatly. “Good to know. Will we be declaring Atlantis its own sovereign city-state as well?”

“Will we have to?” Zelenka asked, taking the question seriously.

“God, Ah hope not,” Beckett said. “No'until we're in international waters. We will be soon, nae?”

“Nae,” Sheppard said. “I mean, no, not for months yet.”

“Damn,” Beckett swore.

“I wonder if the Navy can give us a tow,” Woolsey mused aloud, already knowing the answer. There was nothing the Navy could do about their course, not without doing serious damage to the city. Maybe that answer would change as they got closer to the oil fields...

*****

In the end, none of their ideas were accepted. After all, the constellations on the stargate all had names. Lantea's point of origin was known to the Athosians as the Dancers, to the Satedans as the Taken. New Lantea's point of origin was the Fishes and the Hive, respectively.

Lorne drew sketches of two of the more fanciful of the constellations, the Fishes and the Taken, trying to mimic the flowery style he remembered from old books on the night sky.

The Fishes were simple enough, a large fish chasing a much smaller fish. Lorne embellished the larger fish, turning it into a sea monster worthy of Cetus. The smaller fish writhed in the jaws of the larger, wiggling for its life as the larger overpowered it.

Rodney liked it. The others weren't so sure.

The Taken was odder. The Satedans saw their own monsters in the stars, defending and cavorting and hunting. Here a tlak-tcho wiggled and writhed and danced around the lone child it had taken. Lorne had an amount of trouble with this one as Ronon's description of the tlak-tcho was less visual and more visceral. The monster danced on all four of its hands, its thick furry tail waving behind it as it smiled sharp teeth and gazed with deep black eyes. Its prize stood trapped by the cavorting creature, a child who looked on in amazement and wonder and not a small amount of relief.

It was indeed odd.

Yet it was their choice for the flag.

Woolsey looked at the final design. The monster cavorted in the off-white background, a great brown-black creature that looked vaguely like a sleek sea otter, only larger. And otters didn't have hands like that, eyes that stared into the soul, a snarl that apparently gave the Wraith pause.

The child had been omitted from the final design. Woolsey had to agree, that was a good decision.

As the Taken was raised above the deck of the _Navis Monere_ , as Ronon and Pete took to the deck with shouts of 'arrrr', as the Jolly Roger raised below the Taken, Woolsey resolved never to be seen on that ship during the day.

He had a plan to carry out and it required an air of legitimacy.

*****

He took the boat during the day.

Woolsey pretended he couldn't be seen as he stepped off the boat in the San Francisco Marina. Under his Veil Rodney paid the docking fees and the passengers scattered. They all wore civilian clothes, or approximations of, so the odd look from the harbormaster was only somewhat expected. Or perhaps it should have been entirely expected.

“So, what's the plan?” Rodney asked.

Woolsey sighed. “I have to meet up with Bates,” he admitted. “There are... issues that need to be taken care of. How good is your Veil anyway?”

Rodney shrugged as they walked up the docks towards land. “Good enough to fool a conference full of idiots,” he admitted. “And Stephen Hawking. I don't think I fooled him but he's not going to say much.”

“No problems with crowds or groups?”

“Nope,” Rodney said. “Just glass. Mirrors aren't fooled and glass breaks the illusion.”

“Hmm. That could be a problem.”

“Yes but it's a problem that isn't getting between me and good coffee.”

“So why did Sheppard insist I carry this?” Woolsey asked, pulling a small mirror from his jacket pocket.

“Oh, if I have to drop the Veil I'll need that to put it back up,” Rodney said. “I have one too in a thigh holster.”

“You're armed?” Woolsey asked, looking. “I would never have noticed.”

Rodney smirked, a light purr escaping the Veil.

They stepped off the dock onto the oddness of solid ground. The mainland felt strange, no movement to it at all. Wait, no, not the mainland. Earth. San Francisco. Home, this was supposed to be home. Right?

Woolsey was broken from his odd revelry by an unmarked black car pulling up besides him. The driver's side window rolled down.

“Bates,” Woolsey greeted. He swung around to get in the passenger seat.

“Hey wait,” Rodney said. He pulled open the back door, sliding into the back seat.

Bates raised his eyebrow at Rodney as he glanced at him through the rearview mirror. His eyes went wide and he turned to check. “What the hell?”

Rodney grinned. “Reports of my humanity have been greatly exaggerated.”

“I'll explain along the way,” Woolsey said, closing the door and buckling his seat belt. “Did you get the stuff?”

Bates nodded, glancing up in the mirror again. Yes that **was** a rather large fish-frog monster sprawling out on the back seat of his car. It wore a thigh holster on each leg, one side carrying a Wraith stunner and the other an array of tech and items. It blinked at him, eyelids sliding in a strange three note beat. “Yes, sir,” he said, distracted by the creature behind him.

Woolsey wrapped a hand behind Bates's neck and pulled him to face him. “I will explain along the way,” Woolsey said in an even tone. “Stay focused.”

Bates nodded, took a deep breath, and they were off.

After Woolsey's cliff's notes explanation of Deep Ones, Innsmouth, and Rodney's weird family, Bates launched into a report of his own.

“The _Weekly World News_ has Atlantis on page five,” Bates said.

“Only page five?” Woolsey asked.

“They probably had their headliner already set,” Bates allowed. “Dinosaurs of mass destruction. Always a classic.”

Rodney snorted. “So what's batboy up to?”

Bates grinned. “Saved the president, chewed on the Washington portrait, charmed the world, the usual.”

“That means we control their next headline,” Woolsey mused. His gaze flickered up to the rearview mirror where the Deep One took up the entire back seat in a lazy sprawl. A look back and the Veil wasn't much more civilized, sitting upright yet still sprawled out over the entire seat. “How long since they reported on government lizardmen?”

Bates looked confused. “Not since the Trust fled Earth. Why...” He glanced in the mirror.

Rodney looked at them both suspiciously. “Don't you dare,” he warned.

“You think we should?” Bates asked.

“Oh hell no, Woolsey, I will not be a stooge in your plan,” Rodney snapped.

“Who said anything about a stooge?” Woolsey asked.

Rodney growled.

Bates stared in horror in the mirror as the Deep One unfolded, as it bared teeth and raised spines.

“Bates, don't look,” Woolsey warned. “Watch the road. We're almost at the staging area.” Then he turned his attention on Rodney. “Don't worry, Dr. McKay, you'll like this. I promise. You will have to change your Veil, though. Tell you what, how about we get coffee?”

Bates relaxed as the Deep One in the mirror stopped posturing.

That was close.

*****

The staging area was a house marked as condemned. Woolsey didn't recognize it but Bates led them inside.

Ah, yes, this he recognized.

The house was a staging area for the local NID. A small surveillance bank, three offices, two technicians, an agent listening in on a wiretap, and a room to the side with the stuff Bates requested.

As soon as Rodney saw what was going on he started laughing then immediately agreed.

Not fifteen minutes later he had a new Veil up and three serious-looking men in pristine black suits exited the staging area.

“Let's make some headlines,” Woolsey said, expression blank as he slid on a pair of black sunglasses. Bates and Rodney followed suit.

* * *

MEN IN BLACK IN SAN FRANCISCO. LIZARDMEN OR ALIENS?

Front page photo of a bald Men in Black agent sitting at a window table in a chain coffee shop. A large lizard-like creature with long tail and webbed feet sits across from him, apparently worshiping a cup of coffee. It's visibly armed with an alien-looking ray gun in a thigh holster. The agent looks on without expression.

Interior photo shows two Men in Black agents flanking that same creature as they walk through the streets of San Francisco. The creature stalks a half step ahead of them and looks to be in mid stride, waving sinuously like an eel.

Weekly World News – The Men in Black have been spotted in San Francisco and they are not alone.

At first glance the three Men in Black looked normal. The bald one is known to this reporter for his appearances during the last round of troubles with government mind control. But the moment they were viewed through a camera, a mirror, or even a pane of glass, the short pale one was revealed as something else entirely.

It's not like any other lizardman commonly reported in the upper echelons of ruling politics. In its true form it doesn't move like a person. It holds its tail above the ground, it has webbed feet, and its head is the head of a fish.

Giorgio Tsoukalos, publisher of Legendary Times Magazine, asserts that this is not actually a lizardman at all. Rather, he says this is an alien come to Earth and the Men in Black are assigned to it as guards. “This is a momentous occasion,” says Tsoukalos. “The government has made peaceful contact with aliens and is using our Men in Black to keep it safe as it surveys our planet, takes in our culture.”

If this is true it marks a distinct change in the organization's operating procedure. As long-time readers know, Men in Black have hassled UFO researchers and witnesses into silence since the 1950s. The Men in Black are often accused of being alien themselves due to their manner and methods.

“It is possible [the Men in Black] have always operated in this capacity. Or perhaps their mandate has changed ever since the movie _Men in Black_ revealed their operations to the world at large. Clearly more study is needed.”

This reporter agrees. All sightings of this creature or the Men in Black accompanying it are encouraged on our website [www.weeklyworldnews.com](http://www.weeklyworldnews.com/). Our readers are reminded not to approach either the creature or its entourage. It has a ray gun.

* * *

NAVAL WARGAMES

Associated Press – The US Navy has announced there will be a moratorium of civilian traffic in and out of San Francisco Bay for the week of February 9, 2009. The Navy and Air Force will be taking part in a training exercise, which will include a mock attack outside the bay. Shipping lanes will be affected. Time-sensitive cargo has been diverted to the Port of Los Angeles.


	3. Someone told the Navy we have a boat, right?

The way back to Atlantis was less than successful.

Woolsey stood at the bow of the _Navis Monere_ while the Destroyer _Howard Hunt_ blocked their way.

“Should we evade them, sir?” Pete shouted from the wheelhouse.

Ronon looked through the brass spyglass he'd been gifted. “They have odd looking guns,” he warned. “They're aimed at us.”

A voice over a loudspeaker called down to them. “Turn around. This area is deemed off limits by order of the US Navy.”

“We're invading a cordon,” Rodney said, still Veiled. “We really are pirates.” He sounded almost disappointed.

Ronon tipped his brand new pirate hat, its feather bobbing in the wind. “Arrr.”

“Do we have a loudspeaker?” Woolsey asked. At the shaken heads of 'no' he sighed. “Did anyone think to bring their radios?”

Rodney pointed to his head.

“Yours is implanted. Anybody else?”

Out of the dozen scientists, Ronon, Rodney, Pete, and the three marines...

“Great,” Woolsey said. “How are we getting home?”

“I say we board them,” Ronon said. He took a stance on the bow, force of presence pushing Woolsey aside. He stood in leather and pirate hat, tattoos brandished, dreadlocks waving in the wind, a single bantos rod hanging from his belt. Ronon pulled the rod, pointing it toward the _Howard Hunt_. “Their weapons look built for range. I don't think they can aim if we're close along side.”

“Turn back, this is your final warning!” The voice on the loudspeaker sounded nervous. It might have had something to do with Ronon.

“Have fun storming the castle,” Rodney drawled. “I'll swim back and have Chuck call General Landry.”

“We'll hold them off until then,” Ronon promised with an 'arrr'.

Rodney dove overboard, Veil dissolving as he swam deep and fast.

“Man overboard!” Woolsey watched as the Navy men scrambled to get a life preserver thrown near them. Ah, if only they knew.

*****

Woolsey sat at the interrogation table. Usually he was on the other side, pacing dramatically and demanding answers. Sitting here, hands cuffed together in front of him, bored with the wait, this was a much rarer experience.

“As I said before, my name is Richard Woolsey,” he said, slow and calm as though his interrogator wasn't foaming at the mouth at his 'insubordination'. “I am the head of the multinational expedition in the alien city you're currently guarding. Poorly. We left the area under cordon this morning at 10AM and we weren't challenged. If you were to contact General Landry of the US Air Force like I asked you two hours ago, my story would be corroborated.”

“You're a liar, a spy, and a murderer,” the interrogator insisted.

Woolsey rested his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers before him like the handcuffs were nothing more than a tacky accessory. He gazed at the interrogator, half-lidded eyes blinking slowly as he projected an unnerving calm. “A murderer?” he asked. “That's a new one. Care to explain?”

“You allowed a man to die,” the interrogator said, voice wavering just a little bit. “Whether he jumped or was thrown overboard, he never came back up! There isn't even a body.”

Woolsey scoffed. “Oh, **that**. I wouldn't worry about him. Twenty miles in the open ocean is an afternoon leisure swim for someone with his condition,” he drawled. “It's how he acquired the boat. How did he get it past you, anyway? Or did he?” Woolsey smiled, a darkly knowing smile. “I see. He cast a Veil over it and just sailed right past you, didn't he? Let me guess, something showed up on your radar but your lookouts couldn't see a damned thing. It's like there was nothing there. I've heard the sea monster's Song gets more powerful in the open ocean but this is a little ridiculous. Or maybe I'm giving you too much credit. A simple sail under cover of darkness, no lights, silent running, that's all it would take to get past your sorry excuse for a blockade.”

“Shut up! I'm the one asking questions here!”

“Then ask new ones,” Woolsey snapped. “Or contact General Landry.”

The interrogator grabbed Woolsey by the collar and hauled him halfway across the table. “I should have you thrown in the brig for that,” he warned.

“I bet I'd have a few friends in there already,” Woolsey said, almost purring with that dark grin. “I wonder how that will look when the General gets here.”

There was a knock on the door.

The interrogator dropped Woolsey back on the table before throwing the door open. “What?! Oh! Sir, um...” He saluted.

“Took you long enough,” Woolsey drawled as General Landry walked in.

Woolsey looked like he'd been roughed up a bit. His blue suit was rumpled where he'd been repeatedly grabbed, his wrists were sore under the handcuffs, he was draped halfway across the table, if he had hair it would be a mess, and yet he looked almost as amused as he felt.

“Uncuff him,” Landry ordered.

“But, sir...”

Landry glared at the interrogator. The man ran off to get keys and maybe a superior officer.

“Weren't you told to stay put?” Landry asked.

“Nope,” Woolsey said. “We were denied a staging area for jumper flights. We weren't actually told to stay put. I'm thinking someone somewhere underestimated the inventiveness of a couple hundred bored scientists.”

“You're 25 miles offshore,” Landry said, disbelieving. “How did you get to shore to buy a boat in the first place?”

“Dr. McKay.”

Landry groaned. “Of course...”

“I'm thinking that since we're on Earth we should have some access to, well, Earth. And a boat attracts a great deal less attention from the public than a Blackhawk.”

“Especially a boat full of pirates?”

“You tell Ronon 'no', I dare you,” Woolsey said.

The interrogator came back with keys. Woolsey held out his wrists and the cuffs were unlocked.

“C'mon, then, let's go spring the rest of your...” Landry couldn't think of a word he wanted to say in front of anyone.

“Me bonny crew?” Woolsey asked deadpanned, deepening his gate accent.

“Don't you dare,” Landry warned.

Woolsey laughed.

*****

The incident was all but forgotten, nothing more than another instance of kidnapping and interrogation. A depressingly common occurrence for gate teams, or at least for AR-1. Then, not a few days after the incident, Atlantis received its first general mail call. Woolsey sat in his office, trying not to smirk as he looked blandly at the wide-eyed, nervous Ensign who pushed an overfilled cart of letters and packages. It was his interrogator and he did not look like he was enjoying the trip.

Woolsey sat back at his desk and steepled his hands in front of him, looking for all the world like he did during the poorly executed interrogation. This time, though, he did not dampen his darkly amused grin.

“M-m-mail for you...” the interrogator said. Given his stutter the man clearly had not forgotten.

Woolsey did not ease up on the poor man. “Of course. Set it over there.”

The interrogator complied.

Woolsey glanced over at the poster tube, a few manilla envelopes, and an unmarked package. He was expecting most of those but the manilla envelopes?

“I-I-I just wanted to say... I'm sorry, sir, I didn't know and...”

“You weren't supposed to know,” Woolsey allowed. “You were, on the other hand, supposed to follow orders. Even if given by, what did your commanding officer call us, a bunch of 'hippie protester pirates'? Especially after I gave General Landry's name, rank, and serial number.”

“S-s-sorry, sir...”

“Get out of my sight,” Woolsey said. “And go speak to Dr. McKay. I'm sure it'll be... enlightening...”

“Of course, sir, right away sir.”

Woolsey thought about taking it back as the man left. But then the moment passed and so did his chance. The best he could do was warn Dr. McKay. Make sure the Deep One had his Veil down and his claws filed. Tell him to get the encounter on video. Make sure that was the extent of the poor man's hazing.

After that was taken care of Woolsey moved toward his pile of mail. He popped open the poster tube and unrolled an 18x24 print of this week's Weekly World News cover. He grinned at it as his door opened and the clicking of claws against metal floor informed him of his visitor.

_The mail guy was asking about me. Took one look and fainted. Would you happen to know anything about this? Wait... Is that..._

Woolsey showed the cover to Rodney, couldn't help his own smug smile. “We made the cover.”

Rodney hissed under his breath as he looked at the cover. It was not a photo he would have chosen. He was hunched over his coffee in the midst of tasting its fumes before that first sip. His thigh holster was crooked and the Wraith stunner looked almost ready to fall out of place. His eyes were odd, his dorsal spines were uncomfortably wrenched by the seat back, and his scales weren't shiny. _Why do you have this? Who sent it?_

“I used to keep a copy of every cover I was on,” Woolsey said, looking at this one.

_What? Why?_

Woolsey grew serious as he regarded the Deep One's blank face and inhumanly blue eyes. “Everything I did for the NID is still classified... This was one way I could convince myself I was making a difference. At least someone out there knew what I was doing.”

Rodney's spines raised then fell in an expression Woolsey recognized as surprise, curiosity, perhaps a little understanding. _How many were there? I mean... how many did you have?_

“About a dozen,” Woolsey admitted. “The others should still be in storage. I have covers from the Kinsey affair, from covert shuttle ops, from a visit to Area 51, even from a couple of visits I made to some of Dr. Jackson's old colleagues in the mid '90s.”

_So they know about you. Should you be allowed to leave Atlantis? Won't they recognize you?_

“Not a problem,” Woolsey said dismissively. “The NID bought the newspaper a few years ago.”

Rodney hissed thoughtfully.

“I met their UFO reporter once,” Woolsey continued. “I was in the suit. Gave the standard 'no comment' answers and then threw her off the scene. Not a week later I saw her again. I was at the UN in a civilian suit. She recognized me. She didn't do anything about it, so I didn't report her. The suit means something, it means I'm on a job. Once it's off I'm just another bureaucrat.”

Rodney murred, crouched in the middle of the room. His tail curled around himself, its tip flicking like a cat's. _What are they allowed to know?_

“We can't say anything. But they're allowed to report what they see. And we control what they see.”

* * *

Letter to the editor, _Weekly World News_

It's because I'm a longtime reader and fan of your organization's work that I have to tell you this. You got it all wrong. That's not an alien on the cover of the February 9th edition. Nor is it a lizard person. That is a Deep One.

Deep Ones have lived in Earth's waters for millions of years. They influenced humanity's evolution from the beginning and are still doing so, as certain lucky people can attest to. Our great and powerful masters, they guide us in our form and function, they keep the ancient contracts, they prepare for the awakening of Great Cthulhu. And when He does awaken they will bring us into the ancient cults and share with us the knowledge of past and future, space and time, matter and energy.

I have seen the Deep Ones. I have their blood in my veins. When the time comes I will join them in their worship, revel at the underwater temples. Unlike the traitor you have on your cover. He refuses to take to the water like a proper Deep One, instead insisting on keeping a human position among some highly classified Air Force alien thing. The way to enlightenment in the coils of Great Cthulhu leads down in Earth's oceans, not away in the Void!

-OwenTheHybrid69

* * *

Press release, UC Santa Cruz

Researchers with the UC and the Monterey Bay Aquarium recorded a series of unusual sounds from deep within the Monterey Canyon. The sounds were determined to be biological in origin, though they do not match any known marine species. Further recordings are underway.

The initial recordings have been made available [here]. To make them audible, their frequency has been sped up 10x.

 


	4. Aren't there Deep Ones around here?

Woolsey walked into the gateroom to the sound of something galloping through the halls.

This was an uncommon sound anywhere, especially in the middle of the ocean. Yet there it was, pounding paws slamming into the floor like some sort of panicked animal. Or maybe a racing breed.

Woolsey moved to the edge of the corridor, coffee cup in hand as he tried to stay out of the way of the rampaging creature.

Suddenly that creature shot past him, the floor shaking with the force of its paws. As quickly as it appeared it was gone, down the corridor.

Woolsey looked around the gateroom. Technicians all gave him a shrug then went back to appearing busy. He nodded then brought his coffee cup to his lips.

Wait.

It wasn't there.

His hand was empty.

Woolsey looked around. He distinctly remembered coming in with coffee. It wasn't on the floor, knocked carelessly out of his hands. It wasn't nearby, absently set somewhere as he got out of the way.

He scowled, realizing what had happened, and stalked off to his office.

The door opened on the rampaging creature. It lorded over his desk, draped over his chair, sipped his coffee. “Dr. McKay,” Woolsey greeted, his voice only somewhat accusing.

Rodney held up a claw as he finished Woolsey's coffee.

“Dr. McKay!” Woolsey repeated.

Rodney pulled the coffee cup from his snout and snarled, gill plates clicking.

Woolsey stood his ground, trying not to show his nervousness. He'd read reports on what those claws did to the walls of a hive ship. He knew his own skin was much less resilient.

Rodney's snarl fell into a growl then a low hiss with rattling dorsal spines. Finally there seemed to be words coming through the bluster. _This is decaf. How dare you?_

“I'll try to be more courteous the next time you steal my coffee,” Woolsey snarked.

_Do that._

Woolsey walked up to his own desk, glaring at the Deep One draped over his chair. Eventually the creature would respond to the glare and move. Except it didn't seem to be working that way. Instead Rodney looked back up, slowly blinking in that disturbing three note beat.

Woolsey broke the silence first. “What's going on?” he asked.

_About what?_

Rodney wasn't going off on a rant about some perceived slight, that meant it was either nothing at all or something life-threatening and sanity-flensing. “You're running through the halls like a prey animal.”

_Hey! I'm no one's prey!_

“You're posturing like a scared animal and you refuse to talk about it. Sheppard radioed me earlier about, and I quote, a 'bug up your butt'. What's going on?”

Rodney murred and crawled out of the chair. Woolsey waited until that tail was out of range before sitting down.

Rodney stayed with his belly to the floor, his neck pressing against cold metal like he did when listening to the electrical conduits. His tail lashed behind him and his hind claws repeatedly gripped and slid against the floor. _It's the Song. I can hear her. The Mother Hydra of the Canyon, I can hear her. She's so loud and I can't just ignore her..._

Woolsey was struck with an old memory, a Delta Green lecture where a half-mad 'expert' gave his theory to a room of bored agents. The theory proposed was that each Nest had its own Mother Hydra and Father Dagon to reign over their own small domains as living gods. “You withstood the Song at Y'ha-nthlei just fine,” he said. “Do we need to get Dr. Jackson to distract you?”

Rodney bleated pitifully. _No, nononono, this is different, very different. Mother Hydra of the Canyon Sings a different Song. It's not the same Song, I don't know this Song, I want to know it, I want it so much and I can't! I just can't because I'll never come back! I don't want to go, I want to stay here but it's so hard..._ The bleating turned into a strange wailing screech as Rodney clawed at the floor, clearly distressed by something.

As the wail died down, Woolsey's radio came to life.

*****

The emergency was less of a mystery than it might have been. Corporal Evans had to be talked down from jumping off a balcony even as he ranted about the Great Mother and how he needed to get down there, how he needed the Song. Rodney was in the infirmary having his claws wrapped after he snapped three of them off while trying to scratch through Woolsey's office floor. Even Todd was affected, the Wraith growing agitated as he snarled at the bars of his cell and crouched in the corner, hissing at any who came close.

That one was most interesting, both because it was the first time Todd had ever lost his veneer of civility so thoroughly and also because this was their first evidence that Wraith telepathy could cross the species boundary.

_I could have told you that._

Woolsey and Jennifer Keller paused in their discussion of Todd's condition and its possibilities. They both looked over at Rodney, who was making it difficult for the nurse to wrap his left foot.

“You knew?” Keller asked.

_Well, yeah. Makes it real easy to work with him._ Rodney hissed at the nurse, nearly kicking her. _Will you stop that?! I have eight other claws on that foot I don't need them all wrapped just because I snapped one! It'll grow back! Just put a band-aid on it!_

“And you couldn't have said something?” Woolsey demanded.

_I **did**. Nobody seemed to care._

“You didn't tell me,” Keller pouted.

Rodney chirped in thought. _I didn't? Huh. I could have sworn I did._

Keller puffed up and Woolsey could sense the argument brewing. “Before we get into this,” he said, raising his hands to try to keep the anger at bay. “Perhaps we should talk to Todd. Find out what he hears.”

_How is that going to work? He's non-verbal at the moment so it'll have to be me and there isn't a recording device in the Milky Way that can pick up thoughts and I sure as hell am not going to be writing down every thought I say and hear, nobody can remember that, especially not me since I have a lot of thoughts and Wraith thoughts aren't straight-forward like mine, it's more like a telepathic synesthesia, it involves so many different senses and I'm not even going to try translating the shift of magnetic fields from burningoxygenred to puresolardyinggreen to--_

“Rodney!” Keller shouted. “Shut up.”

Rodney hissed at her.

Woolsey shook his head of the sudden onslaught of thoughts, words, and emotions that weren't his own. No matter how often that happened it would remain weird. “Just, give me the Cliff's Notes version after it's over. That's all I ask. I don't need a thought-by-thought.”

Rodney murred. _All right..._

“Today, if you can. Before this gets worse.”

*****

The video of the encounter was...

Well, he supposed it was better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission. Woolsey knew immediately when he saw the footage that he would not have authorized this. It was dangerous, it was reckless, it was suicidal. It was nuts!

But it worked.

Rodney slithered up to the bars of Todd's cell, laid across them, then hissed at the guard. The forcefield fell as Todd looked up from the floor. The door opened and Rodney walked right in.

Rodney had himself locked in a cell with a hungry Wraith. There was no mistaking it, either, Todd hadn't fed since before they landed on Earth.

The two creatures hissed, baring too many teeth as they circled each other. Todd even lost his own bipedality, stalking on all fours across from the Deep One that flared dorsal spines and rattled gill plates. Hissing turned to snarling which fell back to growling as two predators postured.

Then Todd struck, claws splayed on his non-feeding hand.

The fight was primal, maws snapping and claws bared, yet neither party seemed to come away injured. Instead they circled again before striking, each time the circle turning tighter and tighter.

And then the circle collapsed. The struggle was long, drawn-out, a lazy fight for dominance between two males who simply did not care about the outcome. It ended not with a winner but with a general sense of 'whatever' as they laid in a pile in the middle of the cell, Rodney purring and nuzzling, Todd slowly licking Rodney's scales.

Woolsey silently watched the exchange. He duplicated the file and sent a copy off to Dr. Jackson, his email titled “What the Fuck?!”

That oddness out of the way, he turned to the written account.

*****

To: Richard Woolsey, JD  
From: Dr. M. Rodney McKay  
Re: Conversation With Todd

I announced myself by feeling the strength of the forcefield. Once Todd was aware of my presence I had the guard let me into the cell with orders to ignore everything he saw and heard and not to open the door again until I allowed it.

We got the usual greetings out of the way and once that was over with conversation could begin in earnest.

Physical contact is not technically necessary for Wraith telepathy but it does sound better that way. I'm told that's how private conversation is managed in such a mentally integrated society. I prefer it over shouting at a mind that isn't part of my Nest. He has no preference, he just seems impressed that I have managed to learn 'civilized language'.

He does hear Mother Hydra's Song. He calls her the Abyssal Queen and he can hear her Song. It doesn't have quite the same alluring pull that it does for me but he says he can certainly see the appeal. I had to promise I will Sing for him and his hive once we get home to the Pegasus Galaxy.

He says Earth is a lucky world to have Monere who Sing like this. I disagreed. I can barely control myself with the Mother's Song ringing in my head. Then I had to break it to him that only he and I and Corporal Evans hear the Song.

That may have been the wrong thing to say. Now he wants to meet the Abyssal Queen, or at least more of my kind. This is a horrible idea. Earth doesn't need its Deep Ones learning Wraith-tech and I doubt Pegasus would benefit from the Wraith learning from Deep Ones. Worse, the Wraith tend to target worlds with Monere with a singular fervor. It's a catch-22: the Monere protect their humans and kickstart the ruined civilizations into rebuilding. As a result those civilizations and populations return to culling strength faster, producing tastier prey with more vigor and resilience.

Please don't tell Ronon. Would it help if I rewrote this in French? You can read French, right?

Anyway, yes Todd can hear the Song. It's more interesting than alluring but the more he hears it the more it affects him. He says he isn't acting any different but I know better. He doesn't usually strike first and he rarely gets that involved in licking me. I couldn't tell if he was trying to make me smell like him or if he was trying to ingest my scent. I'm worried it was the second one.

I recommend monitoring the situation. It's safe for me to enter the cell without protection but his hunger is growing stronger. It's bad enough now that I could feel it though the conversation. He's not starving yet but I worry what the Song will do to his civility now that his hunger is gnawing on that portion of his brain.

I suggest getting out of here. We don't need to be on Earth. We need to be in Pegasus.

*****

The 'usual greetings'. Rodney called that, that... Woolsey sat back in disbelief. That predatory display was nothing more than 'usual greetings'?

Woolsey made a mental note to ask Colonel Sheppard about this. Maybe he'd seen such a display and just hadn't reported it. The other possibility, that Rodney would slip away from his escort on a hive ship to purr and nuzzle with a Wraith, it was too disturbing to contemplate.

So Todd did hear the Song and he was affected by it.

Woolsey wondered who else might be affected.

* * *

IN HIS HOUSE AT R'LYEH

Weekly World News – Social media is abuzz this week about strange dreams. These aren't just any strange dreams, either. These are all the same dream with reports coming from all over the world.

In these dreams, the dreamer descends into the ocean down a deep undersea canyon. The sides of the canyon are obscured by kelp forests and gentle falls of soft sand. Further down the canyon sunlight disappears and a light shines from below. That light coalesces into glowing lanterns hanging from the canyon walls where a city is carved into the rock. Terraces and pueblos line the walls, descending down into the abyss and up toward the surface. Sharks swim all around, nosing the dreamer and urging them deeper. Down in the depths where the lights fade the dreamer can hear a single voice singing.

Reports on what this voice is singing vary. Some dreamers hear the voice singing to bring them home, others say the voice is singing something awake. Still others say the voice is trying to ward something alien away from our world.

Regardless, most dreamers report awakening in fear.

If any of our readers have dreams like this, we would love to hear about it. Comment on this story at [www.weeklyworldnews.com](http://www.weeklyworldnews.com/).

* * *

INCREASE IN SHARK SIGHTINGS

Photograph of a shark from above. The shark is swimming just underwater, its fin barely brushing the surface.

Santa Cruz Sentinel – A pod of 18 great white sharks was spotted in Monterey Bay February 13, 2009. Marine biologists spotted the sharks after a report from Maverick's Beach.

White sharks are not usually found in these waters in the winter. Gary Griggs, Director of the Institute for Marine Sciences, speculates that warmer waters due to climate change may be driving the sharks into their northern range.

In addition to white sharks, there have been an increase in blue, mako, and basking shark sightings. All beachgoers are encouraged to stay informed and heed all beach closures, posted warnings, and stay close to manned lifeguard stations.

There have been no reported attacks on swimmers. Boaters have reported an increase in activity, including nudging and circling. Boats under 20ft are not recommended in the Bay at this time.

 


	5. Can we please do something fun?

“We're being watched.”

Woolsey looked past the iron rails of the cafe's patio. Downtown Santa Cruz was not a common place for people like him and Bates, at least not while they were dressed like this.

A man in a floor-length pink feathery dress and parasol took the tiniest of steps past them, vacant smile on his face as he greeted passerby as something like a living art exhibit. Live music drifted from a street musician as he played old rock classics on a beat-up acoustic guitar. Students roamed the street in packs, drifting in and out of stores, avoiding the overpriced cafes for the cheap local places. On the corner another street musician sawed on a violin while impromptu dancers left their packs and twirled awkwardly as though they had no clue why they danced. A local artist hawked his paintings, landscapes and animals. A homeless man with a wide grin carried a sign that said 'smile if you masturbate'.

And here sat Bates and himself, in black suits with black ties and black sunglasses as they tried not to look jealously at the greasy local pizzeria or the tiny bakery that smelled of tiramisu. They were supposed to appear above such small things as their own senses.

“Of course we're being watched,” Bates said as he tried to read a local newspaper. “We stick out like sore thumbs.”

“You don't look so good,” Woolsey said. “You okay?”

Bates shook his head. “Dreams,” he allowed. “Never had dreams like that before in my life.”

Woolsey nodded. “It's getting worse, then,” he allowed. “I have people who think they can hear singing below the waterline. They report it's like a siren's song, or like McKay's Song during that month when he was hiding out in the flooded sections.”

“It's bad,” Bates agreed. He yawned. “I wonder if this is what being a hybrid feels like.”

Woolsey shrugged. “Depends,” he allowed. “You thinking of throwing yourself in the ocean?”

“Little bit?” Bates admitted.

Woolsey gave him a level glare. “Well, don't.”

“I know that,” Bates snapped. “I'm not a moron. I'm just tired.”

Woolsey looked around, ears pricking at a sound he couldn't possibly have heard. He pulled out his wallet, sliding over a bill. “Go indulge yourself, you'll feel better,” he said. “Sometimes even we need to remind ourselves we're human.”

Bates took the twenty. “Thanks,” he said. He left, forgetting the newspaper behind him.

Woolsey waited until Bates was gone before he took off his sunglasses and looked directly down a shaded alley. He could feel someone there watching him. He gestured for them to come out.

A dark figure looked like it spat a curse then slumped forward, walking out into the open with a sullen expression. She had brown hair in a tight bun, wore grey slacks and a button-down shirt, she looked like a young professor instead of a reporter for the Weekly World News.

“Hello Erica,” Woolsey said. “Sit down. I figured I'd find you here.”

Erica huffed. “Look, I have every right to be here, regardless of what you and your organization says.”

“I never contradicted that,” Woolsey said easily. Suddenly he felt the need for a teacup or something to act as a prop or barrier. “Sit down, I need information.”

Erica snorted but took Bates' seat. “That's rare from you,” she said. “What's up?”

“The dreams, the Deep One your newspaper saw with me, the alien city, it's all connected,” he said, amazingly nonchalant about the whole thing. “That connection doesn't make the paper.”

“Shit,” Erica swore. He wasn't sure if it was because of the revelation or the restriction. Probably both.

“I need to know how bad it is,” Woolsey said. “I need to know what else you've found. What you haven't published.”

“Area 51 was taken out,” Erica said. “Explosion. Non-nuclear. You?”

“Not us. They got through. They took out the one place they knew we kept our defenses.”

“Do these 'they' have a name?”

Woolsey shook his head. “Unimportant,” he said. “If we do our jobs they'll never be a threat to Earth. If we don't, well, then it won't matter.”

“Hostiles, got it. Know what they look like?”

Woolsey snorted. “Only if you put a three month hold on the story and keep me out of it. Frame it as a fiction.”

Erica leaned forward.

“Gothic space vampires.”

She scowled at him, not taking him seriously.

Woolsey opened the top button of his shirt and loosened his tie. Todd hadn't actually fed on him but the mark was there regardless. “They leave a scar like this one when they feed on you. I was lucky, he was merely posturing, but there are others...”

“Holy shit.” Erica's scowl was gone, replaced with the lust for a good story. “What do they look like?”

“Embellish it,” Woolsey demanded before giving her a vague description of a Wraith. White hair, blue skin, claws and talons, far too many teeth, hands with mouths in the palms, bright yellow eyes, based on insects...

Erica ate it up, jotting down notes at a fever pitch. Woolsey paused as she began little sketches, little fanged bugs with too many legs. He didn't correct her. “And remember, I'm not your source. No one in my organization is.”

“Gotcha,” she said. Woolsey hoped he hadn't just made a mistake.

“What else do you know?”

“The ISS feed went down, but that makes sense if NASA is involved in a coverup,” Erica mused. “IAWN hasn't shut up yet about the 'asteroid strike' but they're a loose collection of amateurs, there's no central authority to lean on. What I have gotten from NASA implies there's a lot more space junk up there right now. Space battle?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“How'd we win?”

Woolsey shrugged. “I hear a backpack full of C4 thrown in an engine works well enough for most purposes.”

Erica whistled.

“I need you to do something for me,” Woolsey said. “I need you to look down instead of up.”

She scoffed. “Of course.” That scoff turned into a dark sneer.

Woolsey leveled her with a low glare. “This is important,” he said. “The dreams affecting the world are called the Mother's Song. It's affecting Deep Ones, hybrids, and normal humans all over the globe. I need a story on the Song and its affects.”

“Get me photos of your alien and it's a go,” Erica demanded.

Woolsey shook his head. “I can't,” he said. “I can get you photos of the Deep One.”

Erica looked at him odd before the realization blossomed on her face. “The lizard isn't an alien? Wait, there's a real alien somewhere?”

Woolsey groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I will authorize a story on alien meddling in human evolution if you forget I said that,” he all but begged.

“Deal.” Erica grinned like a madwoman.

Woolsey sighed and got up. She looked at him oddly. He held a hand down for her. “Everyone's down at the beach,” he said. “Right now.”

She kept grinning as he led her away.

*****

Waves crashed under the deep grey sky, a winter storm threatening to turn the cold water into a churning maelstrom of sand and foam. This didn't seem to matter one bit to the beachgoers, all of whom acted as though they hadn't seen a proper beach in years.

A lithe tanned woman lay on a bright beach towel, pink and yellow bikini bright against the dull sand and dark sea. Next to her a small child sat in the sand, patting delightedly at the mound he'd built over his own lap.

A large man with dreadlocks and tattoos led a group of shirtless marines in strange katas that seemed like they should have been used by something quadrupedal, perhaps with four hands instead of feet.

A too-pale group in strange clothing played beach volleyball without a net and with the wrong type of ball, though they often stopped to argue over rules that didn't actually exist.

A lifeguard in red glared out to sea at a crazed man who dared to surf in these conditions, despite the incoming storm, despite the shark warnings posted, despite the reports of sightings only a few miles away.

Woolsey walked across the sand to the woman sunning herself despite no sun. Torren looked up at him and cooed, reaching up with sandy grabby hands as a demand to be held. Teyla made no obvious movement but Woolsey could feel her attention shift to him despite her closed eyes and peaceful expression. “Do you know where Dr. McKay is?” he asked.

“I do not know,” Teyla said. “He said something about sharks needing 'pettings'.”

“Woo'sey!” Torren demanded. “Surs! Surs!”

Woolsey cringed at the child's unflinching usage of Ancient, at the usage of his own name, and at Teyla's expectantly arched eyebrow. He sighed in defeat and resigned himself to sand all over his pristine black suit.

Erica looked on with interest as he bent down and picked up the child, who squirmed and squealed with an intimate familiarity. “I didn't think you had a family,” she said.

“I don't,” he said. “He's not mine, not by a long shot.” Woolsey craned his head to avoid a sandy finger up his nose.

Erica did not look convinced.

“Why don't you go see Ronon,” Woolsey said. “Have him show you the pugn'civili.”

Torren clapped happily and squirmed to be let down. Once his little feet hit the sand he bolted off toward Ronon where the man led the marines in traditional Satedan katas.

Woolsey wiped the sand off his face and off his suit.

“Who is your friend?” Teyla asked, looking at Erica. “I have never seen her before. Is it safe to speak as we have been?”

Woolsey cringed. “It's not the safest,” he admitted. “But it's necessary.” He begged her with her eyes not to ask any more.

“I understand,” she said in that serene way that told him he would be explaining this later.

Woolsey led Erica down the beach toward the firm sand at the tide line. Of course Dr. McKay would be in the water, even with the Hydra of the Canyon Singing to him, even with the sharks about, even with the strange madness that was affecting far too many people on Earth. Despite his genius sometimes McKay didn't have an ounce of sense. Like having himself locked in a cell with a hungry Wraith, or swimming 30 miles to shore to buy a yacht, or curling around a ZPM to 'feel its power', or any of a dozen maddened things he'd seen Rodney do in the past few months alone.

“What did she mean, 'speak as we have been'?” Erica asked.

Woolsey looked out to sea, watched as Colonel Sheppard wiped out in the surf. There was a long pause before a faint 'I'm okay' drifted along the wind. “Latin was based on an alien language,” he said. “That's why the words you heard didn't sound quite right, that wasn't Latin. That was the original language. Although to be fair, it sounds better...” He took a breath and changed his speech, trying to emphasize his own gate accent. “...in the original accent.”

Erica looked at him then Teyla with wide eyes.

“Don't stare, it's impolite,” Woolsey scolded. He turned his gaze west, out to the single destroyer that guarded Atlantis from civilian traffic. The city was too far to see even if its cloak was down but still he fancied he could feel where it floated. “The alien city's out there,” he said. “Over a kilometer wide, caught in the California Current. It's presence is stirring up the Deep Ones, making them Sing. Who knows what their Song will wake. It's dangerous for the city to stay here.”

Erica stared out at the roiling clouds on the horizon. “I can't see it.”

“Cloaked. Also 25 miles out.”

“Ah.”

“I need to know what the Song is awakening. The Great Old Ones speak in dreams. It'll start with the artists, just like last time, then the undersea earthquakes. But the city can't leave unless it's allowed to, even if it awakens Cthulhu himself, and not even Yog-Sothoth will be able to put him back.”

“You're serious, aren't you?” Erica asked in a small voice.

“Deadly serious. But Homeworld Security doesn't take Cthulhu seriously even though he'd eat more people than space vampires ever could. I guess it's easier to ignore a threat if it hasn't been seen in 80 years.”

Erica opened her mouth to speak before she grimaced with a sudden headache. Woolsey looked oddly at her before--

_What's it look like up there? Who's got a radio?_

Woolsey fished his radio out of his breast pocket and slipped it on. “Dr. McKay, focus on me,” he said. “We have civilians here and licet videre. Veil yourself.”

Erica shook her head. “What was that?”

_Shit, sorry, sorry, um... So... civilians and we control what they see, hmm? How should I, I mean, how much can they, what should we..._

“Just look like a human swimmer, that'll cover it,” Woolsey said. “And get up here, I don't need you lured by the Mother's Song.”

Out in the waves something surfaced. It didn't look human at all. Woolsey tapped his radio on again. “I said Veil **on**.”

_Give me a minute. You're serious, aren't you._

“Yes I'm serious.”

“Is that...” Erica stared as the creature in the surf dipped back below the water. What came up a second time was a man with red-blond hair and black swim trunks who stumbled out of the surf like he wasn't used to his own two feet. He didn't look anywhere near wet enough to have just been underwater, an odd incongruity that marked his Veil as an illusion.

“There are Deep Ones out there, you realize,” Woolsey said sternly.

Rodney gave him a deadpanned look. He gestured at himself.

“And how exactly are you resisting the Mother's Song?” Woolsey demanded. He was aware of Erica listening to every word, tapping notes on her iPhone. “I seem to recall you were having... problems.”

“There were sharks,” Rodney said as though that solved everything. “They were lonely. They needed pettings.”

Woolsey stared with his own deadpanned look.

“Okay, okay, I, um, I was running a test. The Song at Y'ha-nthlei was easier to bear with the jewelry on so I thought...”

“Deep One jewelry.”

“I have both pieces on and it, well, it seems to work. I can hear the Song and I admit I would really like to follow it but there's no compulsion anymore.”

Woolsey nodded. Another experiment he would never have approved. There was a pattern here and he wasn't sure if it was dangerous or merely unwise.

“Can... can I see?” Erica asked.

Rodney thought about it. “Bad idea,” he admitted. “Many reasons.”

Erica pouted as Rodney wandered up the beach and flopped down on a small hillock of sand. He wiggled, digging partially into it. Erica lifted up her iPhone and watched through its camera as the Deep One pushed at the sand with its claws, hollowing out a nest where it could properly lay. Eventually it got comfortable. It lay mostly covered in sand, only its head, shoulders, tail, and dorsal spines sticking up. Its eyes closed and it huffed as it fell into a light doze, tail twitching.

She looked directly at Rodney, the Veil coloring her perception as she saw the man laying on the sand, head pillowed on his arms like he was sunning himself. Through the camera the Veil fell, showing the monster as it was.

She snapped a picture.

* * *

CITY OF ALIEN MONSTERS

Two interior photos show a Deep One in different situations. In the first one the creature lays half buried in sand, possibly asleep. In the second one a similar creature pets the snout of a shark. The second photo looks like a fake.

Weekly World News – Sea monsters have been spotted lurking in and around Monterey Bay. The creatures are colloquially known as 'Deep Ones' as they share characteristics with the Lovecraft stories.

The monsters have no fear of humans as this reporter was able to get within a few feet of one while it slept to snap its photograph. It responded by hissing before it got up and moved to a different part of the beach. These monsters only came out of the water right before the major storm that hit the area last week, disappearing before the weather cleared.

An anonymous source suggested a connection between the Deep Ones and the alien city that continues to float off the coast of California under naval cordon. It has been suggested that the presence of the alien city is agitating the Deep Ones, making them Sing, disrupting dreams all around the world.

* * *

BOARDWALK CLOSED

The Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk will be closed February 17th for a private party. We apologize for any inconvenience.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> licet videre, Ancient for "we control what they see"


	6. What can we do?

To: Richard Woolsey, JD  
From: Dr. Daniel Jackson  
Re: RE: What the Fuck?!

This is interesting footage. I'm sure Dr. McKay was informed it would be collected and analyzed.

Given you sent no accompanying note with the video I'm unsure what specific information you're looking for. All I have are some basic hypotheses.

This appears to be a fight for dominance. It's not a territorial fight, it's more like a demand not to be ignored. The fight is not being taken seriously by either side as evidenced by the lack of visible bloodshed. The circle inward before the final clash is reminiscent of ritual combats I have witnessed among the Una, the Oranians, and Earth's wolves.

Given there is no clear winner, I have to conclude that the result of the combat is unimportant, only that Dr. McKay is willing to engage in the attempt.

As to the licking I have no idea.

*****

To: Dr. Daniel Jackson  
From Richard Woolsey, JD  
RE: Re: RE: What the Fuck?!

I need to know if this is a danger to Atlantis or to Earth. Dr. McKay has determined that Todd [the Wraith] is affected by Mother Hydra's Song same as a Deep One would be. It's difficult to get more information than that as Dr. McKay has been banned from the area and Todd remains nonverbal.

Also could the licking put Dr. McKay in a compromising situation?

*****

To: Richard Woolsey, JD  
From: Dr. Daniel Jackson  
Re: RE: Re: RE: What the Fuck?!

If Dr. McKay is the only one who can 'speak' to your Wraith then he should not be banned from the area. Intel is more important right now than worrying if Rodney's been compromised.

I am aware of Mother Hydra of the Canyon. The Archivist is affected by her Song despite a thousand miles of land and mountain between them. The only way to keep him calm has been to let the Gate idle 24/7 and sit him next to it. Gatesong is keeping him sane for now.

*****

To: Dr. Daniel Jackson  
From: Richard Woolsey, JD  
Re: you need to truncate your subject lines

Is that wise?

[edited 23:15]

Of course it isn't wise you utter moron. Neither was making Kavanagh the Archivist. That's irony for you, he accuses me of being a cultist and now he's gotten himself all wrapped up in Great Cthulhu's tentacles. And please tell me you've been talking to someone about this who isn't the Weekly World News? Things are just going to get worse unless the IOA lets Atlantis leave!

*****

To: Richard Woolsey, JD; Dr. M. Rodney McKay  
From Dr. Daniel Jackson  
Re: Re: you need to truncate your subject lines

Hello Rodney.

He is correct, Mr. Woolsey. The IOA needs to know the gravity of the situation. There have been earthquakes in the South Pacific. Dreams are getting bad all over the world. The Gatesong is wrong. As much as it pains me to admit, Atlantis needs to leave.

*****

To: Richard Woolsey, JD; Dr. Daniel Jackson  
From: Dr. M. Rodney McKay  
Re: In All Seriousness

And we have no way of using the Atlantis gate while we're on Earth. As soon as we initialize our gate the SGC is going to find all of their traffic rerouted through out gateroom. Five minutes. Five minutes is all the time I need to mess up every wormhole the SGC has scheduled.

Todd hears the words underneath Mother Hydra's Song better than I do because he doesn't feel the same compulsions. As soon as I take off what little gold I have it gets bad again. I have to get in there. He's the only one who can tell me the words.

*****

To: Richard Woolsey, JD; Dr. M. Rodney McKay  
From: Dr. Daniel Jackson  
Re: Re: In All Seriousness

Okay that's creepy. Don't Wraith eat people?

*****

To: Dr. Daniel Jackson  
From: Dr. M. Rodney McKay  
Re: Not a Problem

I'm Monere. The Wraith consider Monere to be more than people. He wouldn't eat me if he was starving. It's too deep of a cultural taboo.

*****

To: Dr. Daniel Jackson; Dr. M. Rodney McKay  
From: Richard Woolsey, JD  
RE: End Of Discussion

Enough, both of you. Rodney, I will take your request for time with Todd under advisement. Dr. Jackson, I am aware of the dangers of our presence but the IOA has not yet made their decision and I can't expect them to take reports of 'bad dreams' seriously no matter how serious it is. Now then, I have my own sources on Earth watching the situation through unofficial channels. We will monitor the situation and take action only when allowed to or if Earth is in danger.

*****

To: Richard Woolsey, JD  
From: Dr. M. Rodney McKay  
Re: Weekly World News

Just how much do you trust them?

*****

To: Dr. M. Rodney McKay  
From: Richard Woolsey, JD  
RE: Re: Weekly World News

The NID has been financing them from the beginning. Two years ago the NID took full financial responsibility over their activities. I've worked with their UFO reporter before. I've had to throw her off sites, bribe her with leads, threaten her life, and burn her hard drive to keep the Stargate Program safe. I trust her to find what I need.

*****

To: Richard Woolsey, JD  
From: Dr. M. Rodney McKay  
Re: You Magnificent Bastard

I keep forgetting the NID has resources that aren't Delta Green and the Trust. This amuses me.

* * *

To: Dr. M. Rodney McKay  
From: Jeannie Miller  
Re: You're a horrible person

Where the hell have you been! I had to find out you're on Earth from the Weekly World News! I don't even read that piece of shit but there you were on the goddamned cover! Why haven't you come to visit, hm? How often have you come to Earth and not seen me? Is this some kind of pattern? Will I find you on the cover of the National Exaggerator next?! Or is your photoshoot with Bigfoot more important!

*****

To: Jeannie Miller  
From: Dr. M. Rodney McKay  
Re: What the hell?

Well I'm sorry I haven't visited you when my only city-approved method of transport is a fucking pirate ship. I'm not in Colorado, we're stuck in the Pacific Ocean. We had to fly Atlantis to Earth for Wraith reasons. And no I can't just beam anywhere, the _Odyssey_ is who knows where, the _Daedalus_ is salvaging the _Sun Tzu_ in the intergalactic void, and the _Apollo_ is currently in dry dock on the edge of the Milky Way. All our ships had their asses handed to them and it'll be months before any of them can beam anything anywhere.

Except the _Odyssey_ , they just suck. I can't find anyone cleared to know where they are. And they keep stealing our ZPMs.

Look, I'm sorry I haven't emailed but it's not like I can call you, words don't work that way, and we've been really busy here. We took some damage during the battle and the cloak is using way too much power to be safe. The military doesn't want us leaving the city, meaning we have to take the damned pirate ship and sneak off. And don't think I'm kidding about the pirate ship, there's pictures attached.

If you want a visit you have to come see me. There's no way I'm swimming to midland Canada.

[attachments]

Photograph of Ronon in his pirate hat standing on the bow of the _Navis Monere_. He wields a bantos rod like a cutlass as he poses.

Photograph of the boat itself. It's a beat-up scuzzy thing, off-white paint and patches of rust betraying its age. It flies two flags, the Taken and the Jolly Roger.

Photograph of Pirate Pete at the helm of the _Navis Monere_. He wears a red bandana on his head and wields a bottle of Captain Morgan in one hand.

*****

To: Dr. M. Rodney McKay  
From: Jeannie Miller  
Re: Still mad at you

So you're stuck around the city. You can't take a plane? I know you have a Veil, doesn't that work?

When are they letting you out?

*****

To: Jeannie Miller  
From: Dr. M. Rodney McKay  
Re: You're being illogical

I can't take my Veil on a plane, it only works on people. It doesn't work on their stuff. Stuff like security cameras or millimeter radar or panes of fucking glass. Unless it's a private plane, if I walk into an airport I'll be found before I can even reach the ticket counter.

As to when they're letting me out? Only when I sneak out.

As to when they're letting Atlantis leave? Now, if they weren't all morons! But noooo, we have to protect Earth, the _Odyssey_ is too important to call home and it's not like the city belongs in another galaxy, or that we have several natives to that galaxy on board, or even that there are treaties breaking as we speak because we're not there to uphold them! Worse, Mother Hydra of the Canyon is Singing because we're here! Because we're fucking up her territory what with bringing Atlantis and Todd and me and ugh! It's not like we're screwing up international shipping and there's a whole field of oil rigs we're going to plow right through, nope, blowing up an oil field and destroying California's economy is not a problem compared to the IOA having to make a fucking decision!

*****

To: Dr. M. Rodney McKay  
From: Jeannie Miller  
Re: Now who's illogical

Whoa you're pissed. Well sorry for bringing it up. It's not like there haven't been weird dreams here either.

And you could have at least emailed me to warn me about that! I've got the dreams now because of this weird thing going on out there. Madison won't sleep alone at night and we've had to pull her out of school because of the screaming. Kaleb's getting weird, keeps insisting I bite him because it makes us both feel better. Bite him! Always on the back of the neck. Is this some weird Deep One thing? This has to be some weird Deep One thing. Oh god, what if I'm turning him into Mom? What if he's going insane because this is happening to us? If Kaleb goes mad I am blaming you!

*****

To: Jeannie Miller  
From: Dr. M. Rodney McKay  
Re: You always blame me

Okay, Jeannie, dearest sister, I'm going to suggest you do something you're not going to like. I want you to pick up the Weekly World News. Every week.

Before you decide you're going to hit me next time we see each other, please just trust me. We have them investigating the Hydra of the Canyon and her Song's worldwide effects. They're the only ones who will. They've already published a lot and they're keeping an eye on new developments.

And yes the biting is 'some weird Deep One thing'. He's trying to get you to not feel helpless. It's a sexual dominance thing, at least that's what it feels like when I do it. He's offering himself to you like a good little cultist.

Kaleb won't turn into Mom. Dad did that to her. He was too demanding, too controlling, and then too much of a coward. He broke her when he killed himself. Kaleb is not Mom because you're not Dad. You're stronger than he ever was.

*****

To: Dr. M. Rodney McKay  
From: Jeannie Miller  
Re: You're always to blame

I am going to hit you when I see you next. Smack you upside the head. I did not need that mental image.

I picked up a copy of the Weekly World News. They're really blatant, aren't they, mentioning Atlantis as being right there. Is the city really stirring up the Canyon Nest?

How did I know to call it the Canyon Nest?

Meredith, I don't know what's happening to me. Kaleb's overprotective and grabby, Madison won't leave our side, and my hands feel all wrong. Please.

*****

To: Jeannie Miller  
From: Dr. M. Rodney McKay  
Re: Not to blame for this one

Todd's presence is stirring up the Canyon Nest. The city itself is stirring up the Canyon Nest. We've been discussing it and I might have to go down into the city ballast and Sing to keep everyone sane. It's affecting my Nest, Jeannie. I don't know if I can Sing hard enough.

There's more about Atlantis on their website. There's a whole 'Alien City' topic that's popped up, sightings and whatnot. We've been cycling the cloak during late night to save power since we unplugged the auxiliary ZPM to keep it in reserve. You'll be able to track us from there.

I guess Dad was wrong. Your Change didn't fail. Congratulations, you're a hybrid. Now stop panicking and act like one. Madison will panic less if you're calm. Let Kaleb keep you calm by taking what he offers. They're your own little Nest and it's your job to keep them safe. But let them help you.

*****

To: Dr. M. Rodney McKay  
From: Jeannie Miller  
Re: You suck

You're not helpful, Meredith. Fine, I'll track you. But don't make me spend Spring Break in Cabo San Lucas just so I can hurt you.

* * *

“Clearly this isn't all fiction. I wonder what else of theirs is true?”

Jeannie looked up from Meredith's latest excuse for an email to see Kaleb leaning against the counter, reading the Weekly World News. She rolled her eyes. “I expect none of it is true,” she said.

“I don't know...” Kaleb hummed as he flipped through the pages.

“Maybe you can subscribe,” Jeannie said, not hiding her distaste. “They'll send you a batboy t-shirt.”

Kaleb gave her a long, low glare before returning to the paper. “According to this shark sightings around the world are going up,” he said. “They're swimming up to people and prodding with their noses. They won't leave until the hapless human pets them.”

“Sharks are cute,” Madison said from the kitchen table. She was scribbling on a sheet of paper, using far too much blue for Jeannie's comfort. “They need pets.”

“Shark tourism is up around the Great Barrier Reef,” Kaleb continued. “Turns out shark petting is a legitimate niche.”

Jeannie sighed. She didn't want the Weekly World News to be right. She didn't want this to be happening to her or her family. She didn't want to hear the echoes of the nice man with the Black Book as she made her choice. She didn't want to have to worry about her family. She especially didn't want the constant itching in her hands or the webbing that spread between her fingers.

“Mommy?”

Jeannie looked up to see her Madison looking worried. Worried and tired, Maddie's eyes were red around the edges from too many nights thrashing in the bed. “It's okay, Sweetie,” Jeannie assured, though it felt empty.

There was a rustle of paper and she felt Kaleb's arms around her, his face nuzzling the back of her neck. She made a sound, halfway between an inviting purr and a growl of warning. She wasn't sure what it was or what she meant, but he seemed to know. Or maybe he was just ignoring her protest as he pressed his lips to her skin.

She opened her eyes to the feeling of Madison climbing into her lap. Jeannie held her daughter while Madison showed her the drawing she made.

Little blue lines indicated it was an underwater scene. There were sharks, octopii, and fish swimming in the background around the tall spires and six spreading piers of an underwater city. It looked oddly familiar.

No. It couldn't be.

Regardless, in the foreground there was a family of four, three adults and one child. Three were colored blue and green and had webbed feet, spinal fins, one had a long tail. Those three had the same smiling faces as the fishes in the background. One adult was different, drawn in a peach color with hair and shorts and a snorkel.

“That's me and that's you, Mommy, and that's Uncle Meredith and that's Daddy because he's not one of the swimming people, he needs a snorkel. And that's the new city I saw in my dreams last night. It's not like the other cities but it's pretty and it Sings.”

Jeannie's breath caught in her throat as she remembered Meredith's most recent email.

_I've begun Singing in Atlantis's flooded corridors. Let me know if anything changes. I don't think I can block the Song from the Canyon but I can alter it._

* * *

MAKOS AND TIGERS AND GREAT WHITES OH MY

Weekly World News – An increase in shark sightings has lead to an increase in shark tourism in the great Down Under.

Shark attacks are at a seasonal low but shark encounters are wildly above normal. Instead of attacking these sharks are instead sneaking up behind their human prey and prodding them with their noses. Often the sharks will then swim off as the human reacts accordingly with screaming and thrashing but sometimes the shark doesn't leave. Sometimes the shark will do it again and again until the human gets the hint and rubs the shark's nose.

Scuba divers have it the worst, or the best as the case may be. Sharks have been swarming local scuba divers with demands for pets, even snapping at people if their pets aren't satisfying enough. This has been a boon for local dive guides who say tourists will pay good money to touch a shark.

Marine biologists admit that although sharks have been known to engage in this behaviour before, never has it been reported in these numbers.

* * *

NAVAL EQUIPMENT TEST

Associated Press – The US Navy has announced a small scale test will be performed the next several nights in the vicinity of Monterey Bay. Residents are expected to see lights near the horizon from 11PM to 4AM. Boat traffic is not advised in the area.

 


	7. Can we please leave?

It was curiosity that brought Woolsey down into the brig, plain and simple. A deep-seated morbid curiosity. He'd heard that Todd had his voice back and decided to check out the situation for himself.

It was not the smartest decision he'd ever made, even with Dr. Lindsay from linguistics at his side.

Todd paced his cell, bent forward with his clawed hands held before him. He looked like he so wanted to give up bipedality but was forcing himself to walk on two legs. It was a position McKay was known to take when pacing and that was not a comforting realization.

“I heard you regained your voice,” Woolsey said. “I was hoping we could talk.”

Todd stopped his pacing, slitted pupils constricted into tight lines within wide gold irises. He hissed.

“I know it must be difficult for you,” Woolsey said. “But Dr. McKay is--”

“Dr. McKay isss the only one who can lang'sssivilisss,” Todd snapped, forcing out the words amidst his hiss.

“'Speak a civilized language',” Dr. Lindasy translated. “He's lapsing into Ancient.”

Woolsey nodded. “And what civilized language would that be?” he asked.

“Larrrua.” The 'r' sound rolled in a purr as Todd said it.

“Wraith,” Lindsay realized. “Wait, Dr. McKay speaks Wraith? I thought he was... Oh...”

“Yes, Dr. Lindsay,” Woolsey said. If the Wraith were telepathic then it stood to reason that Dr. McKay had learned how to change the notes of his Song.

“The lang'litati are... difficult... to ssspeak...” Todd said. “It takesss effort. Few Wraith are willing to go through the time... and patienssse it takesss... jussst to converssse with our food.”

“'Prey languages',” Lindsay said.

Woolsey nodded. He'd figured that one on his own. “As fascinating as this is, I'm more interested in something else.”

“Domiv'abysssssi.”

“The Abyssal Queen.”

“Yes, her,” Woolsey agreed. “We call her the Mother Hydra of the Canyon. Her Song should be loudest now.”

“Dissssonusss...”

“It's discordant, disrupted.”

“Is it?” Woolsey asked. “Interesting. Dr. McKay is in the flooded sections of the city right now, trying to out-Sing her.”

Todd's eyes went wide. He stopped pacing and stared openly as his hiss fell away into a shocked growl. “Sicut monere't! Non potest dissonus domiv'abyssi quia!”

Woolsey looked confused until Dr. Lindsay translated. “He's just a monster, how can he out-sing the Abyssal Queen?”

“I don't know how he does it,” Woolsey admitted. “But he has laid claim to Atlantis as his Nest and he insists that gives him the right.”

“Provocare domiv'abyssi non habet potentia!”

“He doesn't have the... strength? power? right? to challenge Mother Hydra.”

“Obviously he does or you wouldn't be speaking,” Woolsey said. “Would you?”

Todd slid down the side of his cell to sit on the floor. He kept muttering a single phrase over and over. “Venen'agri... venen'agri...”

Dr. Lindasy looked confused and a little worried. “I'm... not sure,” she admitted. “Poisoned... field? World? Flock?”

Woolsey crouched down on the floor to put himself at Todd's eye level. “I need to know the words of her Song. Dr. McKay says you could understand her without succumbing to her compulsions. I need to know what she's Singing.”

Todd growled, long and low before answering. “Temptabo.”

Lindsay nodded.

And then Todd began to speak.

*****

The world has gone mad and the stars are right.

The Gate of Yog-Sothoth has been open through fifteen storm seasons, the oceans warm due to the fires above, the waters ring with the cries of steel whales, and the upper-earth men crowd the shores like baitfish. Now the City of the Enemy returns to R'lyeh's ocean and it brings with it a Nest of Heretics.

And the Mother Heretic dares try to Sing against me.

The stars are right and the city of R'lyeh rises. The ocean floor rumbles beneath. It will swamp the coasts and wipe them clean. I will Sing to our Lord Cthulhu. I will Sing our Lord awake. I will Sing to the other Nests, bring their voices to the task.

The Mother Heretic will fall. Or her City will leave.

Either way her Heresies will leave the presence of our Lord Cthulhu. Her Song will not disrupt our Lord Cthulhu. Our Lord Cthulhu will Sing to us when the Mother Heretic is gone.

Our Lord will Sing.

And we will listen.

*****

“You have... a god... on your Earth...”

Woolsey looked up from his thoughts at the Wraith in his cell. Todd breathed deeply, labored, like the effort of speaking English was more than he expected.

“Yes,” Woolsey admitted. “Sort of. 'Great Cthulhu is Their cousin and yet he may spy Them only dimly.'” His quote of the _Necronomicon_ was not verbatim, but it was close enough.

Todd nodded. “The Ancients had legends... of this Lord Cthulhu... Their own Monere fought a war for a world and lost. Lord Cthulhu owned that world, led its servants in faith and battle, drove the Monere to flee into the Void where they found the Ancients, and into icy waters where they were consumed by their own creations.”

“That sounds... familiar,” Woolsey admitted. “What did the Ancient's Monere look like?”

Todd described creatures beyond human experience, barrel-shaped monstrosities with five feet on one end, five eyestalks on the other, five sinuous claws and five membranous wings all around their sides.

“The Elder Things,” Woolsey realized. “They were consumed by their shoggoths when the slaves rebelled. The Ancient outpost in Antarctica is littered with paintings and murals of that fall and the war before it.”

Todd looked worried.

“The world the Ancient's Monere lost was this one,” Woolsey said. “The Deep Ones here are the servants of 'Lord' Cthulhu. They're Singing to awaken him.”

“Nou relinquere!” Todd shouted.

“We have to get out of here,” Lindsay translated.

“I figured as such,” Woolsey drawled. “Know that I am doing everything I can to get permission for Atlantis to leave.”

“Non licentiam postulo! Capesso dextera tua!”

“You don't need permission,” Lindsay said, though she sounded a little unsure at the growling waver of fear in Todd's voice. “Seize your... Sir, I think he's saying it's your city and you should be able to go wherever you damn well please.”

“Noted,” Woolsey said. “But it's not my city, not really.”

“Imperium conversus ad domiva haereticus.”

“Then you must turn control over to... the Heretic Queen?”

“This isn't Dr. McKay's city either,” Woolsey said. “That isn't up for debate. Now if you'll excuse me...”

As he left he heard Todd shouting behind him. The words were Ancient but their meaning was clear.

If they didn't get Atlantis off of Earth, things were going to go very wrong.

*****

“Mr. Woolsey, never before have I had reason to consider you an excitable man. But this request of yours...”

The entire IOA wasn't present in Woolsey's conference room, simply the controlling members. Representatives from Russia, China, England, France, Germany, and General O'Neill sat overlooking the Atlantis gateroom with its stained glass aglow from afternoon sunlight, the gate itself cold and lifeless. A skeleton crew of scientists and military stood watch over instruments as repairs continued in the vain hope of their departure.

None of the assembled appreciated the view. Instead they all stared up at Woolsey as though he'd requested they lasso the moon.

“Ladies and gentlemen, there are practical reasons for my request,” Woolsey said, trying to retain control over the meeting. “This city is not stationary. In the three weeks since we landed we have drifted 147 miles down the California coast, including time spent in various eddies. Our scientists predict we'll reach the Santa Barbara Channel in two weeks. Models predict with 76% certainty we will be swept through the channel, putting billions of dollars of oil production in danger. We have no way to steer. Oil platforms are stationary. The chances of a collision are all too real and there will be nothing we can do to stop it.”

“Be that as it may--”

Woolsey cut off the representative from Germany. “Even assuming we come through unscathed, Atlantis will then find itself crossing the busiest shipping lanes in the world. Now, the IOA has said in no uncertain terms that the current world recession is part of the reason for detaining Atlantis on Earth. What kind of affect on global trade do you expect from a complete shutdown of both the Los Angeles and Long Beach ports? How long will that shut down remain in effect?”

The representative from China looked nervous. O'Neill looked bored, many others seemed unimpressed.

“We will not stay in US National waters for long,” Woolsey warned. “We will drift into Mexico's jurisdiction in time for the tourist and hurricane seasons. Mexico is not a member state of the IOA and they are not required to allow US Naval interference in their sovereign waters. How will a cordon be maintained? **Can** it be maintained?”

“If you just kept the cloak up that would be less of a problem.”

Woolsey focused on the speaker, the representative from England. “The cloak's power consumption is enormous. Even with cycling it off during late night hours, we expect to run out of power by August. At that time there will be no way to hide this city, the existence of aliens, or this program. By then we should be in Philippine sovereign waters at the height of hurricane season with no power for a shield. If an invading army doesn't take this city a super-typhoon will.”

“And what do we do in the meantime when Earth is attacked?”

General O'Neill answered the question posed by the representative from France. “The _Daedalus_ is less than a week away with the _Sun Tzu_ , they're bringing it home. The _Apollo_ needs another month of repairs before it's battle-ready but their hyperdrive is fixed now.”

“So we are defenseless without Atlantis.”

Woolsey grimaced. That was not what he wanted to hear. “There is another problem,” he admitted. “The Wraith knew of Earth before.”

“What?”

“The Ancients had a legend of a world they fought for and lost. The Wraith we have in custody is at least ten thousand years old. He heard that legend first-hand from Ancients he personally fought. Given the legend's descriptions of Elder Things, Deep Ones, and Great Cthulhu, there are more than enough consistencies for me to believe that this legend speaks of Earth.”

The assembled members whispered among themselves before a consensus was reached. The representative from Russia looked like he had a headache. “Mr. Woolsey, when we allowed this Deep One McKay to stay on Atlantis it was with your assurance that there would be no problem.”

“And there was no problem,” Woolsey defended. “Until we returned to Earth.” He tapped on the presentation screen and brought up a sound file of McKay in the flooded levels.

A haunting sound filled the room, sent chills up the spines of most present. Eyes fell closed as something primal clawed within unshielded minds.

Woolsey stopped the sound and shuddered. “That... is what a Deep One sounds like when it's Singing.”

“Is there a reason for this?” demanded the representative from Russia. He sounded furious.

“Yes.” Woolsey brought up a list of a dozen other sound files. He pointed to a few in turn. “This Song was recorded in the Black Sea, this one in Monterey Bay, this one in the Gulf of California, this one in the South China Sea, this one near the Federated States of Micronesia, and this one off of Sri Lanka. They're all Deep One Song and this city is what's stirring them up.”

“That's a bit of a stretch,” General O'Neill said.

“All of these Songs began January 29, 2009,” Woolsey countered. “They day we landed. I've been told this is not difficult information to find. It's readily available on the internet through citizen scientists, commercial shipping companies, and university press releases.”

“All the more reason to keep Atlantis on Earth,” said the representative from England. “If there is a problem we'll need this city's firepower to handle it.”

Woolsey tried not to visibly slump. He knew when he'd lost the argument. It was better to save what face he could for the attempt later.

* * *

SECRET ALIEN MEETINGS

Weekly World News – Black helicopters have been spotted traveling to and from the alien city that currently drifts off the coast of California.

Two unmarked Blackhawks were spotted early the morning of the 20th of February, 2009. They dropped down, arguably to avoid radar as they approached the hidden alien city. Observers reported the helicopters disappearing behind the alien's cloak.

Two unmarked Blackhawks, likely the same ones, were spotted returning to shore late on the 22nd. The helicopters didn't land, instead they continued inland. If they stuck to legitimate military sites, Lemoore Naval Station was their likely landing point.

After the helicopters left, one Man in Black were seen in Monterey in the company of a three star General. This Man in Black are familiar to this reporter as he has been involved in reports of the alien city since its first appearance.

It is unknown what kind of meeting took place aboard the alien city or what the military has planned.

* * *

Press Release, UCLA

Researchers with the UC and the Long Beach Aquarium recorded a series of unusual sounds from the Catalina Canyon on the far side of Santa Catalina Island. The sounds were determined to be biological in origin. They are morphologically similar to sounds recorded by UC Santa Cruz in the Monterey Canyon.

The initial recordings have been made available [here]. To make them audible, their frequency has been sped up 10x.

 


	8. Has the Navy ever run a successful cordon?

The pitter-patter sound of rain was broken by a mocking, booming voice that shouted “It's the storm of the century!”

Woolsey looked up out through the glass of his office wall to the technicians in the gateroom. They were clustered around a viewscreen where... wait... when did they get cable?

He shut his laptop screen and went to join them. “Gentlemen?”

Banks elbowed him in the side.

“And I use that term loosely,” Woolsey amended. It didn't seem to help.

Chuck looked sheepish. “Dr. McKay suggested we start tapping into local TV broadcasts,” he said. “We're south of Atascadero so we're starting to pick up Los Angeles broadcasts.”

“Anything good?” Woolsey asked.

Banks grinned. “Midnight _Star Trek_ reruns.”

“They expect a storm in the next 12 hours,” Chuck said. “Check out what they're calling it.” He flipped to a recorded segment, the ticker on the bottom showing in big bold letters 'Storm of the Century'.

“We talked to a few of our own who lived around there,” Banks assured. “Everyone says the same thing. LA panics and calls any storm with more than an inch of rain in it the 'storm of the century'.”

“They shoulda seen our polar gyre,” Chuck said.

Woolsey had to agree. “Keep me informed,” he said. “I hear the city's only rated for a thousand feet.”

He knew they weren't going to sink the city. But those clouds on the western horizon did not look pleasant.

Less than an hour later he knew why the clouds looked so wrong. The sky behind them glowed an eerie green.

The _Howard Hunt_ had shit radar and even they could pick up the hook echoes, three of them.

Chuck watched Atlantis's own radar intently, the greens and yellows of the storm line giving way to the twisting red at the center of those echoes.

“I need to make a call,” Woolsey said. “Chuck, can you get me General O'Neill?”

*****

“O'Neill's office.”

“Hello, is the General available?”

“I'm sorry, sir, he's out of the office at the moment. I can take a message.”

There was a pause. “Very well then. This is Mr. Woolsey, tell the General that we have tornadoes inbound and are taking the necessary precautions. Thank you.”

“Wait, can I get your--”

The line went dead.

*****

“Cloak is down, shield is up.”

“Good,” Woolsey said. “What's the _Howard Hunt_ doing?”

Chuck moved to a different screen. “They're outside the shield, there's a general alert going, I think they might be, yes, they are idiots and they did just ram the shield trying to get in.”

Woolsey pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Minimal damage on their end.”

Well, at least there was that.

“Radio chatter's picking up,” Chuck said. “Half of the city's heading to balconies to watch and the other half is demanding we move to the base of the central tower.”

“I trust the shield can hold,” Woolsey said. “How strong do we expect the tornado to be?”

Chuck shrugged. “It's an F1, maybe a weak F2. It'd blow us around pretty good with the shield down but I'd expect minor damage only.”

“Don't tell anyone that,” Woolsey said, low and demanding. “We just had to drop the cloak in daylight and my call to O'Neill went to his secretary. Just say it was a tornado and let people's own ideas supply damage estimates.”

“Yes sir,” Chuck said.

“Now I am going to my balcony to watch. I've never seen one of these things up close.”

*****

The tornado glanced off the edge of the shield. Confused fish, torn kelp, and a lot of water splattered against the shield, sliding down the sides of the energy barrier in a way that almost felt comical. And then it was gone.

*****

As soon as the hook echoes had either passed or dissolved, Woolsey ordered the shield down and cloak back up.

And then his radio buzzed.

“Woolsey here,” he said.

“You dropped your cloak!”

Woolsey vacated the gateroom and went to his office. He sat down at his own conference table, more fitting given the nature of General O'Neill's complaint. “Yes, General, I did. There was a tornado.”

“Did it even hit the city?” O'Neill demanded.

“Yes, yes it did. I hear some the meteorologists recorded video of the event. They're excited about seeing the counter-rotation from underneath.”

“Speaking of 'seeing'.”

“Was I supposed to allow the tornado to impact the city?” Woolsey demanded. “The sea floor is 2500 feet here and the city's only rated for a thousand, should I have sank us anyway? We only got the warning we had because we're monitoring local news broadcasts.”

“Atlantis is a logistical nightmare,” O'Neill lamented.

“Remember that when I next ask to leave.”

It would have felt good to hang up on General O'Neill. It would have felt better if the General hadn't done it first.

*****

Rain still fell as the _Navis Monere_ sailed into port. Ronon stood at the bow anyway, uncaring as he was soaked by seaspray and rain. Several people took his lead, their clothes soaked through and grins on their faces. Sheppard was one of them, wearing a junk t-shirt and swim trunks, surfboard in hand. Rodney stood next to him, his Veil eerily dry.

“Why are we here anyway?” Zelenka asked. He had at least fought with an umbrella before giving up and embracing the rain. “There is nothing here but retired people. Not even any clams.”

“I need information,” Woolsey said.

Radek snorted. “You will find none of that either,” he warned. “Wait until real city.”

Woolsey scanned the people at the wharf. Ah, there was his information. “Excuse me,” he said, heading down the wharf.

A woman with tightly bound brown hair and an umbrella stood on the boardwalk. She carried a paper file folder.

“I see you got my message,” Woolsey said.

“So did everyone else,” Erica warned. “You just had to post it to our website. Doesn't your organization have security watching for that?”

Woolsey shrugged. “I have a Deep One who can dismantle the NSA with a powerbook.”

Erica's eyes went wide. “Point taken.”

Woolsey gestured toward a quaint little restaurant near the docks. “Shall we?”

*****

Maybe McKay was right. Maybe he did need to get out more.

Maybe if he got out more this wouldn't feel so much like a twisted date.

The restaurant left them alone as promised, sticking them at the back table where the illusion of privacy was greatest. Erica had her file folder open and was showing Woolsey pictures taken the day before.

“How did you get these?” Woolsey asked. “Tell me these aren't the originals.”

“Of course not,” Erica said. Thus she only made a face when he folded them up and made to stick them in his suit jacket. He grinned before unfolding them and laying them back out.

They were photos of the tornado strike. The _Howard Hunt_ was not visible in the first scene. The arc of Atlantis's shield glowed orange as the tornado skipped over its surface, energy arcing and fizzing along the track. It was a very close photo.

Woolsey looked at the next. Atlantis spread wide and regal across the entirety of the scene, tinted orange by the shield. The photographer had not managed to keep the _Howard Hunt's_ communications tower out of the shot, betraying their presence on the ship's deck. “We have a leak,” he mused.

“And you're going to plug it,” Erica said sullenly.

“Not until after these hit the newsstands,” Woolsey said. “I have to protect my own position too.”

“Of course.”

Their server brought two bowls of clam chowder and quickly left obvious earshot.

“Well if you're unofficially allowing me to print these, perhaps you can unofficially answer a few questions.”

Woolsey sighed. “I reserve the right to ignore you.”

“Right. So Area 51 was destroyed last month. Any news on why?”

“In the '90s we gave you a story to print about Area 51's shutdown. Everything was to be moved to an undisclosed location in Colorado, probably Cheyenne Mountain. That story was a lie and a smokescreen. Area 51 was and until last month remained the United States' foremost research facility on alien artifacts. But once you ran that story...”

“People didn't take Area 51 as seriously,” she realized. “They thought it'd been dismantled. **We** thought it had been dismantled. You rat bastards...”

“Exactly. Area 51's main line of defense has always been the fact that it's in the middle of a radioactive desert. That doesn't deter people like it used to. But if they think all the good stuff's been moved under NORAD, well... NORAD is its own line of defense; nobody breaks into NORAD and lives to tell about it.”

“So the 'gothic space vampires' knew Area 51 was still active. How?”

“Scanning a planet for energy signatures is child's play,” Woolsey admitted. “Sometimes it's as easy as looking out a window at the planet's nightside.”

Erica took a few notes and tapped the photo of Atlantis. “So why does the alien city look like the one in the newest set of dreams?”

Woolsey winced. “The Mother's Song has been made dissonant. The new Song is trying to keep some sanity in the alien city. It's... having effects. Thank you, by the way, for those recordings you sent me. It wasn't enough to convince my superiors but it's a start.”

“What will convince your superiors, I wonder.”

“I have some ideas.”

*****

“I still need a story,” Erica said as she and Woolsey walked along the wet sand of the beach. The rain had faded to drizzle and the sea pounded at the sand. The clouds loomed angry and dark and thunder rolled from somewhere offshore.

“The tornado strike isn't enough?” Woolsey asked with a snort.

“You know what I mean. If we have to take that down we won't have anything for the website.”

Woolsey looked around them, saw where they were and who was present. “Does your iPhone record video?”

“It can, why? Oh... Oh my...”

The beach was littered with sunbathers and revelers despite the lack of sun. It was the same group that laid in the fog at Santa Cruz, though their activities were different. Some people dug in the sand for clams, Torren joining them just to push sand around. A marine laid buried in the sand nearby. Several people jogged along the tide line, the wet sand bouncing under their feet. Teyla and Ronon were in the middle of a slow spar-dance, a performance that was collecting an audience. And nearby, Colonel Sheppard was trying to get Rodney McKay to surf.

Erica raised her phone to record the pair of them, knowing what she saw would not match what the phone saw.

“What's the point?” Rodney demanded. “Why could I possibly want to stand on the water?”

“Because it's fun?” Sheppard countered.

“It's fun to fall off your board? My, you **have** been hit on the head too many times.”

“Shut up. Watch, I'll show you.” Sheppard waded into the surf with his board.

Rodney waited, expecting, yes, there it was. Sheppard banked right while the wave crashed left and he wiped out.

“I'm okay.”

Rodney slow-clapped. “Yes, that looks like so much fun,” he drawled. “So much more fun than petting sharks or lazing in the sand.”

“Like you could do any better.”

“Oh but I don't have years of experience.” Rodney turned to glance behind him. Erica could see through the camera how the monster's eye swiveled and it turned to level its gaze on her. She shuddered at the wrongness of it. “Hey, you're a human,” he said, walking right up to her. “Make him make sense.”

“Um...” Erica didn't know what to say. She shut off the recording. “If I try can I have an interview?”

A rumbling sound echoed from Rodney's throat even as he glanced at Woolsey for some sort of guidance. What he got was not clear. “Maaaybe?”

Erica's face lit up.

* * *

ALIEN CITY SPOTTED

Front page photo of Atlantis in all her glory, slightly faded underneath the orange glow of her energy shield. A small busted-looking yacht is moored between two piers.

Interior photo shows the waterspout dancing across Atlantis's energy shield leaving swirled eddies of chaotic white light across her shield's bow.

Weekly World News – The alien city off the coast of California revealed itself.

Eyewitnesses report that the city faded into visibility before being engulfed by a shimmering orange shield of energy. The purpose of this energy shield was made immediately apparent by the tornado that skipped across it. Without that shield the tornado would have struck the city causing untold damage. The shield stayed up until the danger had passed and it fell before the city once again faded from view.

The city itself is reported to be “miles wide with six giant piers and massive towers covered in stained glass and people, always people on balconies and mulling about and darting in and out of the water.” No word on what form these aliens take or why they're willing to put up with our polluted ocean, our meddling Navy, or our tornadoes.

The city is expected to continue its drift south. No word on whether or not local oil production or international shipping will be affected.

* * *

WATERSPOUT OFF CENTRAL CALIFORNIA COAST

Associated Press – A waterspout formed off the Central Coast on friday in association with this weekend's storm. It did not approach land. There were no reports of damage or injuries.

 


	9. Aren't the stars pretty?

The view was extraordinary.

Santa Cruz Island loomed to the west, the island's sea cliffs rising above the water like sentinels. Volcanic rock coated in lichens dripped a myriad of colors in the midday sun, reds and oranges and white and greens and black. Sea caves yawned deep and dark into the depths of the island.

The oil fields were safe from Atlantis's drift, the derricks hugging the mainland where the oil naturally bubbled freely in seeps and flows.

But the Channel Islands...

The call over the radio was all the warning any of them had before Todd started screaming in his cell and Rodney jumped off a balcony.

The island was inhabited. But not by humans. Not anymore.

*****

Mother Hydra of the Caves does not Sing to raise their Lord Cthulhu. She does not Sing at all, not now that her Earth-People were gone.

The island once held a great civilization, her Earth-People of the Island. But now they were gone. Gone these past two hundred storm seasons. Men came after, empty-headed men who did not Sing. Dull men who did not Paint. Boring men who brought roaming beasts to the island and nearly stripped it bare of all that crawled and flew and grew and Sang.

Mother Hydra of the Caves does not Sing because no one is left to answer.

But today that changed.

The Distant Song drifts south along the waves, a warning of the Mother Heretic who brings the Dissonant Song. It is a strange Song, this Dissonance. It echoes even when the Mother Heretic ceases to Sing. Perhaps the City of the Enemy Sings the Dissonance while the Mother Heretic rests.

It echoes now as the Mother Hydra of the Caves opens her throat and croaks her sad sad Song of loss and loneliness.

Her Nest is small, only a few dozen. They are all who remember the Earth-People of the Island. They swim the sea caves, darting in and out as they tend the Painted Memories. As they add their own to the Memories, etched in stone and shell and copper and gold.

Still, though her Nest is small, they gather to parley with the Mother Heretic as he hears the sad Song and answers with his Dissonance.

*****

Todd crouched on the floor of his cell, curled up like a seated cat. He murmured words into the nothingness, hisses and growls and bleating chirps that coalesced into fragments of words and sentences.

But they weren't English.

Dr. Lindsay sat with a pad of paper, scratching out notes. Her chicken-scratch alluded to words but they didn't make much sense.

_...cavernis tristitia..._

_...haereticus..._

_...praelium..._

_...autem iuste..._

_...mare vocat..._

_...fugit planetae..._

_Abeo mihi..._

Dr. Lindsay looked up at that one. It wasn't muttered or whispered like the others. It was a distinct sentence. Todd was looking directly at her. “Abeo mihi,” he said again. “Nou postulo't relinquam.”

“I know,” she whispered. She agreed with his pleas. They had to get out of here. Earth was no place for Atlantis. Not anymore.

*****

Rodney returned to them the next day as the sea caves of Santa Cruz Island drifted away to their north. As they followed the currents south. He didn't announce himself, didn't radio in, didn't tell anyone. He simply climbed the side of the West Pier and took the transporter to the mess hall.

Silence rippled from the door, gripping every person there as the doors opened on the creature they all knew so well, the scientist they barely understood. He staggered in, webbed feet dragging as he fell forward onto his forepaws, shoulders slumped with the weight of standing upright.

Zelenka moved first, approaching Rodney from the right side. Human hands laid on smooth scales, faltering a little as he realized their patterns had changed just a little. Was there more blue to Rodney's coloration than before? No, there couldn't be, it must be an illusion.

Rodney stalled in his stagger, leaned imperceptibly into Radek's touch. His pupils went wide as he spoke something only for the two of them to hear. They must have been the right words because Radek leaned in and rubbed his face against Rodney's snout. Soft purring rose from Rodney's throat as he tried to stay standing.

Ronon approached next, coming from the left side to lay a hand on Rodney's flank. Then the room changed as so many others got up, all approaching to try to get a better took, to offer some strange comfort, to touch Rodney's scales and remark on their color like they'd never seen it before.

Woolsey stayed where he was at a corner table, ignoring the urge to get up and join the throng of Rodney's Nest. He may have accepted the title of Monere Attrect but he was no Thrall.

He needed an expert opinion. He needed the Archivist. If Dr. Kavanagh had managed to familiarize himself with Delta Green's files by now. And if the man was sane enough to travel.

*****

“Archivist.”

Kavanagh did not look pleased at his current situation. He'd had to endure an entirely too long, bumpy, and windy flight to Edwards Air Force Base since the SGC refused to put him on a commercial flight. Then he'd been picked up by these two men, both of whom he recognized, their bad movie costumes weren't fooling anyone. Now Agent Bates was driving and he was stuck in the back seat alone while Woolsey dared to try talking to him.

At least the man put the proper amount of respect to his title.

“Why am I here?” Kavanagh demanded. “Why are you both dressed like _Men in Black_ rejects? Why's the world going nuts? And why am I in a straitjacket?!”

Woolsey looked behind him at the man in their back seat. Huh. He hadn't even noticed the straitjacket. “That might be my fault,” he admitted. “Dr. Jackson was adamant about your inability to travel without endangering yourself or others. I told him I didn't care if he had to lock you in a straitjacket to make you safe, I expected you here.”

Kavanagh glared. “I hate you. Now can you get this thing off me?”

“I was warned not to,” Woolsey admitted. “Dr. Jackson was very clear about the state of your sanity without the Gatesong to keep your mind together. Especially where we're going.”

Kavanagh's eyes went narrow with suspicion then wide with realization. “You're never letting me out of this thing are you?!” He gritted his teeth and thrashed inside the confines of the straitjacket, slowly sliding over until he lay on the back seat of the car. He lay there, slumping in defeat or at least in an armistice. “I hate you all.”

“I know,” Bates said fondly. “And we hate you.”

Kavanagh snorted. “At least that hasn't changed. How do you expect to get me to Atlantis like this?”

They let him out of the straitjacket.

*****

Bates dropped them off near the Santa Monica Wharf. Woolsey looked out over the Pier and sighed. He tapped his radio. “To anybody who's listening, get Colonel Sheppard off the damned ferris wheel.”

Kavanagh snickered.

“You don't happen to be able to Sing a Deep One Veil, can you?” Woolsey asked.

Kavanagh was unsure how to answer that. He could point out he wasn't a Deep One but that didn't matter much. He could claim it wasn't in the Archives, but mention of it was. So he settled on something a little more final in its dismissal. “I don't Sing,” he said. “Mother Hydra is the one who Sings.”

“Dr. McKay Sings,” Woolsey countered.

“Yeah, about that...”

Woolsey gave him an odd look. He filed that information away for later, instead leading Kavanagh down toward the Wharf. He still carried the straitjacket. “I warned the IOA about this,” Woolsey said conversationally. “I told them R'lyeh would rise if they didn't let Atlantis leave. Deep One Nests all over the world are Singing.”

“And now the stars are right,” Kavanagh admitted. “I know they've gone right. The stars have changed the Gatesong. There are things awakening both here and in the Void. The Ori have fallen and the Goa'uld are dethroned. We are the Chosen of the Asgard. The Deep Ones created the Tau'ri as we are today, the Ancients merely meddled. The gates are alive, Mr. Woolsey. The gate networks are vast, living, breathing, thinking, Yog-Sothoth will not take kindly to Their meddling in the affairs of the Void.” He turned mad deep eyes on Woolsey, smirking as the man shuddered and went pale behind his black sunglasses. “The IOA has a decision. Which master will they serve? The master above? Or the master below? Or must we decide for them?”

Kavanagh looked out over the sea. A distinct sigh of longing tainted his voice. “I would serve the master below,” he admitted. “But I don't have that choice. It was made for me by the Chosen of Yog-Sothoth. I serve the gate. But, I guess, for now that means I work with you and your Mother McKay.”

“Wait, what?”

Kavanagh grinned widely, evilly, knowingly. But they had reached the docks and people were calling their names. The _Navis Monere_ was ready to leave to take them all back home.

* * *

R'LYEH RESTLESS

Weekly World News – Reports have come in from all over the globe that an earthquake swarm in the South Pacific holds ominous portents for the people of Earth. The NOAA is sending out their main research vessel in the Pacific Ocean to the site to 'investigate the event'. Satellite feed of the area has been cut and the ISS video feed is not transmitting as it crosses the area.

The earthquakes began during a conjunction of Mercury, Mars, Jupiter, and the Moon in the constellation of Aquarius. They ended as the Sun went into opposition to Ceres.

Now, this reporter doesn't like to speculate, but how 'right' do the stars feel? We welcome discussion on our website at [www.weeklyworldnews.com](http://www.weeklyworldnews.com/).

* * *

MOON AND PLANET CONJUNCTIONS IN FEBRUARY AND APRIL

[(real link to the real blog post I lifted)](http://www.mikesalway.com.au/moon-and-planet-conjunctions-in-february-and-april/)

Conjunctions of the Moon and Planets can be quite special events, as we saw on December 1st 2008 when The Smiley Face Conjunction graced our skies. A conjunction is an alignment or grouping together of 2 or more celestial bodies (usually the moon and planets) in the sky, from our vantage point on Earth. The objects aren’t necessarily physically close to each other in space, but from where we see them, we call the grouping a conjunction.

A conjunction doesn’t have any particularly special meaning, but they can be interesting to observe because very close conjunctions are quite rare events. It can be very exciting to see two planets in the same field of view of your telescope! Not only that, but conjunctions, especially with the moon and/or bright planets are involved, are just a lovely spectacle to look at and photograph.

Given that, there’s a few conjunctions coming up later in February and in late April that are worth getting up early to see and photograph:

February 23rd: Conjunction with the Moon, Jupiter, Mercury and Mars

February 25th: Conjunction with Jupiter, Mercury and Mars

April 23rd: Conjunction with the Moon, Venus and Mars

* * *

INCIDENT REPORT

USGS – A swarm of undersea earthquakes were recorded near 48º52'S 123º23'W between February 23 and 25. The largest of this swarm was recorded as an 8.6 on the Richter scale. Tsunami alerts were issued for the coasts of Chile and New Zealand. No injuries were reported.

The NOAA has sent the USS Hi'lalakai to investigate the event.


	10. Fuck this, who needs permission?

This was familiar.

The movie room had been converted for the occasion. It still held space for a hundred people, space taken up by a mere third that number as people sprawled on seats, sat on the floor, laid on each other, stood in the back, and in general ignored those rules of civility that demanded they sit up and listen.

It didn't help that this wasn't a movie. It was a lecture.

“Before we begin, I want to thank you all for coming,” Woolsey said. “And I want to make sure that what is said here leaves this room. Everything said here today is important knowledge for the entire expedition and I don't want someone claiming ignorance as an excuse.

“Now then, to business. As most of you know, I have been fighting the IOA to gain permission for Atlantis to leave Earth for the past month and a half. They have repeatedly refused despite the _Daedalus_ currently in orbit, the _Odyssey's_ whereabouts classified, and the _Sun Tzu_ currently under repair at Edgeworth Station. The _Apollo_ remains under repair at Outer Rim Station and they are taking their sweet time. That puts two of our four intergalactic ships in the Sol System.”

“That's more than we ever had,” Sheppard called from the back.

Woolsey took a deep breath before accepting there would be shouts from the peanut gallery all day. “Barring the war with the Asurans, Colonel Sheppard is correct. Earth is better protected now than Atlantis has been for a sizable percentage of our time in Pegasus. And Earth is not currently fighting a guerrilla war with an alien power. Rather, Earth's predicament is much more precarious. R'lyeh has risen.”

He waited for the whispers to die down. “The USGS picked up a swarm of seaquakes near Point Nemo close to the locations given by both Lovecraft and Derleth. The US government is doing everything it can to prevent the public from finding out about R'lyeh but with the number of private satellites viewing the event there is little they can do. The NOAA has already dispatched a ship to the area under the pretense of studying the earthquake swarm but if cultists get there first...”

“Are the stars right?” Radek asked from the front row.

_The Nests are Singing the stars right. They're Singing because we're here. Atlantis is stirring them up. We have to get out of here._

“Dr. McKay is correct,” Woolsey agreed. “And for the 'why's of this phenomenon we have the SGC's expert on Deep One history, culture, and biology. Ladies and Gentlemen, the Archivist.”

There was a smattering of applause that turned to confusion when Kavanagh stepped forward. It was definitely Kavanagh but his hair was no longer tied back, falling to his shoulders to entangle in the gold cultist's collar and pectoral that encased his neck and draped over his chest and shoulders. He wore leather cuffs locked on his wrists, little brass padlocks clinking as he moved. The cuffs matched the leather belt around his waist where his hands could be locked in case he became dangerous. The bindings matched the wild look in his eyes and yet when he spoke it was with a calm, fluid, eerily sane voice.

“Colleagues, traitors, and esteemed Mother, I am the Archivist. The SGC has let me out of my Archives due to the seriousness of this matter. There is much you don't understand.”

The lights went low and the screen behind him lit up with a powerpoint presentation. Kavanagh clicked to the first slide. “This... is a Deep One.”

It was not a picture of Rodney. It had no tail, no spines. It had webbed feet and hands, the head of a fish, and it looked like a human trying to move like a toad.

“You'll notice some differences between this and the Deep One you're used to. Part of that is due to the Deep One's adaptability.” The next slide showed a deep sea video. Something moved in the darkness, fat and flabby but with the shape of a man. Tiny bioluminescent lights shone in lines on its sides and blinked from a dangling lure attached to its head. “Atlantis was designed to drift in open ocean, requiring a longer, sleeker form capable of speed and maneuverability.” The next slide showed Rodney, darting in and out of imagined grottoes as he swam in open ocean.

“Part of McKay's difference lies in how Deep Ones form Nests,” Kavanagh continued. “In the Archive there's a record from a Soviet outpost on the Arctic Sea.” The next slide showed a map with a lonely northern dot. “Of the scientists stationed at this outpost, one was a hybrid who took to those icy waters. But there were no Nests in the Arctic prior to this. The lone Deep One began to Sing, enthralling his own former colleagues. They refused to leave the outpost despite threats of prison, death, starvation. Those thralls became the Deep One's new Nest.”

There were uncomfortable murmurs in the crowd. Kavanagh grinned, teeth bared. The locks on his wrists clinked as he trembled with an insane glee, with the knowledge that he alone understood what was happening to Atlantis. “It gets worse,” he promised. “Other hybrids began coming to this new Nest, following the Lonely Song as though it were Mother's Song. The Lonely Song sped their Change, turning them in months when it would normally take years. The Arctic Nest grew and grew. It's still there, still growing, as is the cult of thralls trapped on the surface.”

“How?” asked Teyla from the back.

Kavanagh was nearly bouncing. “When a Deep One takes to the water they will seek out the Mother's Song. In the case of the Arctic Nest, there were no Nests close enough to hear. In the case of the Atlantean Nest, there were no other Deep Ones on the planet. And so the single Deep One might go insane, feral, become nothing more than a rampaging animal without a Song. Or! Or...” He giggled. “Or it will Sing a Nest around it, collecting whatever it can find. Humans, animals, Wraith, it doesn't matter. First it collects a Nest of thralls. Then the Lonely Song calls out to the hybrids, luring them away from their family Nests. Finally the lone Deep One will begin Singing its ownership of that Nest, staking its claim. The same way you, Mother McKay, have Sang your ownership of Atlantis and thrown the Canyon Song into Dissonance.”

_What did you just call me?_

Kavanagh stamped down the urge to purr. He knew it would make no sound. “That lone Deep One collect thralls and lure hybrids by Singing the Mother's Song. Regardless of gender, size, age, or power, that Deep One becomes the first Mother Hydra of that Nest.”

The room filled with murmurs and protests. Minds flinched as Rodney Sang sounds with no meaning. Woolsey took the floor and pounded on the makeshift podium. “Order! Sit down! I will have order!”

“I hear their Song!” Kavanagh shouted over the din. “All of them, every Nest, every Mother Hydra! They call you Lirgh'fhalma, the Mother Heretic! You have claimed the City of the Enemy as your Nest and Lord Cthulhu is displeased! This city will leave this world or when Lord Cthulhu awakens you will all taste the vengeance of R'lyeh!”

Woolsey gestured to a pair of marines and pointed to Kavanagh. With trained efficiency they grabbed the Archivist and locked the wrist cuffs to his waist before hitting his thigh with an autoinjector. The screaming changed, grew groggy as the tranquilizer took effect.

“H'rii-lirgh athg ch'nglui ph'shogg...”

Nobody wanted to know what Kavanagh was muttering. It didn't sound like it should be coming from a human throat.

Woolsey remained at the podium. “To be honest, I didn't expect him to last so long,” he admitted.

“What is wrong with him?” Radek asked.

“All of the Archivists have either gone insane or been insane,” Woolsey explained. “Dr. Kavanagh is no exception. He has, however, shown himself better than most at handling the revelations of the Archive.”

“I was right all along,” Kavanagh mumbled. He lifted his head to loll at Woolsey, eyes as mad as his words. “The Ancients failed where the Elder Things failed, the gates are alive, Yog-Sothoth's Chosen drive us ever onward... We are pawns on a board of queens... We will all **pay** for the IOA's hubris...”

“That is true enough,” Woolsey admitted. He turned back to the assembled and their shocked, distrustful looks. “I didn't organize this presentation to alarm anyone but the facts need to be known. R'lyeh is risen. Cultists around the world are no doubt mobilizing. We have in our grasp the solution to save Earth and potentially put Great Cthulhu back to sleep. Atlantis has to leave.”

“We'll be going against the IOA,” Lorne warned from the back. “It'll be akin to mutiny. Every member of the military will be up for court-martial.”

“I am aware,” Woolsey said. “That's why I will be contacting General O'Neill before we make the final announcements or arrangements. He wants Atlantis gone as much as the rest of us, especially as I have shown us willing to drop the cloak near a populated beach in order to keep this city safe. He knows we will defend ourselves if we have to.”

“What's telling the general going to help?” Sheppard asked.

“All those unsure about our course of action or unwilling to leave Earth under these mutinous conditions will be allowed to leave. Atlantis will not be accused of kidnapping or false imprisonment.”

“And what sort of excuse are you going to use to get that many people to leave?” Lorne asked.

Woolsey clicked off the powerpoint presentation and turned the lights back up. “Ladies and gentlemen, as of right now I am declaring Atlantis a sovereign city-state, beholden to no national laws or customs but our own. Everyone in this city who wishes to stay is a citizen of Atlantis. All those who disagree with this decision will be allowed to leave, no questions asked. Whether or not the rest of us are allowed to return to Earth in our lifetimes will no longer be up to us. We are declaring our independence of the IOA, of the SGC, and of Earth.”

The room sat shocked for a long moment before every voice raised in question.

*****

“You did what?!”

Woolsey thanked all the stars gone wrong that General O'Neill was on the other end of the continent, connected to him only by a radio link. Still, he braced himself for the auditory blows.

They didn't come. “General, you know the situation. R'lyeh has risen and we're the cause. Multiple sources confirm the Deep Ones call us the City of the Enemy. Great Cthulhu will be coming for us first and no amount of drones will kill a thing that reforms after discorporation.”

“Speak English!”

“Great Cthulhu will pull himself back together after any strike we level!” Woolsey snapped.

There was silence on both sides of the radio link. Woolsey took a deep breath as he surveyed his own office. All of his _Weekly World News_ covers hung on the wall, quietly mocking the secrets he kept from the world. What good was that secrecy if Earth fell to the Great Old Ones because of the IOA's refusal to admit they were wrong?

“Okay, fine, Atlantis needs to leave,” General O'Neill admitted. “How do you plan to convince the IOA?”

“I don't,” Woolsey said. “That's why I want three Chinooks, one for each of Atlantis's major piers. I'm declaring Atlantis its own sovereign city-state. All those who disagree for any reason will be allowed to leave, no questions asked. I don't care who they are, if they want off they can leave.”

“And what will that accomplish?”

“Atlantis has no representative in the IOA. We're an unrecognized foreign power and we will defend ourselves if attacked. But without backing in the IOA we're not required to follow their directives. My resignation as US representative to the IOA has already been submitted to the President.”

“You'll never be allowed back on Earth,” O'Neill warned.

Woolsey shrugged though there was no one to see. “I have nothing on Earth,” he said. “Several of our personnel feel the same way. Most of the scientists and the Air Force officers have already pledged to stay.”

“And if we decide to retake Atlantis?”

“As I said, General, we will defend ourselves.”

“You're off the coast of LA! You'd blow the whole program wide open!”

“Then don't try to invade,” Woolsey said as though it was the simplest solution. “There are several security leaks among your own people, including aboard the _Howard Hunt_. I told you that was a horrible name for a ship. They're living up to that name. What happens when they go to the real press instead of the _Weekly World News_? Does the IOA control Al-Jazeera as tightly as the BBC?”

“You've made your point,” O'Neill grumbled.

“Not entirely, no. General, how is Dr. Jackson?”

O'Neill's fury was audible through the thousands of miles between them. “He's in a padded cell at the SGC. Sam, too. They both locked themselves in, said it was for our safety in case it became 'necessary'. When they're asleep they both scream about the 'high priest of chaos' and 'the end of the human world'.”

“Get them off world before Great Cthulhu awakens,” Woolsey said, all too calmly. “The Archivist isn't much better here, he keeps lapsing into a language I have to assume is R'lyehian. We have him in a straitjacket as per Dr. Jackson's insistence. If Great Cthulhu awakens while we're still here... General, there won't a padded cell on Earth that could contain any of them.”

O'Neill went quiet. Through the speakerphone Woolsey thought he could hear the clinking of glass and something being poured. A drink sounded like an excellent idea. He reached into his own desk for his flask of Zelenka's Most Decent.

“The Chinooks will fly out of Vandenburg tomorrow,” O'Neill finally said. “If the SGC sends along certain... personnel, is Atlantis going to cause trouble?”

Woolsey took a swig directly from the flask. “Depends on the personnel,” he admitted, voice suddenly rough from the burn of strong liquor. “We reserve the right to turn away anyone, same as any other border crossing.”

“You might want to look at these,” O'Neill said. His voice had a similar rough quality. “Expect the Chinooks tomorrow at 2100.”

The call went dead.

Woolsey took a deep breath. He knew word would get to the IOA through O'Neill's office. In fact, he preferred it that way. This way he wouldn't have to allow them into the city.

*****

The Exodus, as they'd taken to calling it, was a mess. All of the marines from the last three transfers were leaving. Many made excuses like 'family' and 'because of reasons' and 'it's Earth I can't just leave', many left without a word.

No one was stopped.

There were hugs as Dr. Keller bid everyone goodbye. There were handshakes as Dr. Lindsay went back to the SGC. There were empty platitudes as their latest psychologist fled. There was a worried silence as the Archivist was led off in his straitjacket.

But now there were those who stayed to consider. And those who came on the Chinooks.

O'Neill had packed the cargo holds full of supplies: bullets and MREs and unspoken approval. But there was more.

There were people.

Hybrids, all of them, fleeing from their own dreams. Fleeing to the City of the Enemy and the Mother Heretic who might protect them.

Fleeing their own gods.

* * *

THE WORLD GONE MAD

Photograph of an eerie twisted landscape, an island of mud and algae and tilting blocks of stone. At the top of a peak there sits a vast tomb with a door that doesn't quite stand straight. The photo is overexposed in places, underexposed in others, and the film seems scratched.

Weekly World News – R'lyeh has risen.

A source on board the research vessel _USS Hi'lalakai_ sent us this photograph, insisting it had been taken with a digital camera. The _Hi'lalakai_ is in the area performing 'scientific tests' on the cause of the earthquake swarm. It looks like they found the cause.

Several small ships have tried to land on the accursed island only to be driven away weather, by the _Hi'lalakai_ , or by the island itself. Our source reports unrest on the research vessel, including one scientist who threw himself overboard and tried to swim to the island. He didn't make it.

R'lyeh has risen and we all know why.

The alien city off the coast of California has been kept here against its will by an organization known to this reporter only as the IOA. The Men in Black have been negotiating on behalf of the alien city and its lizard-like aliens to no avail. This alien city needs to be allowed to leave before someone wakes Great Cthulhu and dooms us all.

* * *

 

UNION DISPUTE HALTS WEST COAST TRADE

Associated Press – The Ports of Los Angeles and Long Beach have been shut down due to a union dispute.

The Port Authority confirms there is a dispute between the Ports and the International Longshore and Warehouse Union but that discussions are ongoing. Meanwhile, container ships are being rerouted to San Francisco, San Diego, or are holding in the Pacific Ocean.

* * *

PORT SHUT DOWN, UNION NOT TO BLAME

KTLA 5 – The Los Angeles and Long Beach Ports have been shut down due to what the Port Authority claims is a union dispute.

We spoke to representatives of the International Longshore and Warehouse Union and they claim otherwise. “The shut down of these economically vital ports is not the fault of the unions,” says Harry Bridges, ILWU founder and longtime president. “We had no warning the ports were shutting down. We have made repeated requests for answers and been stonewalled at every turn. We demand to be allowed back to work.”

When asked about ongoing negotiations, Bridges responded “If there are negotiations we haven't been notified.”

The Port Authority did not respond to requests for comment.


	11. How dare you try and stop us?

“How does power look?”

_We're looking at 8% and 54% in the main ZedPMs, 89% in the auxiliary._

“Repairs to stardrive?”

“Incomplete. There's still structural damage.”

_I'm on it._

“We leave at 0330 in two days, will you have enough time?”

_Get me the hyperbaric welding equipment._

“Wait, what's the plan for the pirate ship?!”

“Seriously? You're worried about that?”

_Build a drydock facility on the South-East Pier and you can keep it now get to work!_

The control room and radio chatter was a frantic mess of running and shouting. The damage to the stardrives had been delayed due to the issues with Hydra of the Canyon and now time was of the essence.

And then it all got worse.

“Sir, we have an incoming blackhawk.”

“Are they armed?”

“Worse. They're requesting a landing vector. They have diplomats.”

Woolsey overlooked the preparations for departure, military personnel looking imperious, scientists running ragged, technicians monitoring data from local news and hacked satellites. “Have them escorted to my office,” he said. The IOA would see all of that and they would make their demands.

Everyone had their jobs. His was to keep the skies clear so they could leave.

*****

“Richard are you out of your mind?!” Landry demanded.

Ambassadors Russel Chapman and Shen Xiaoyi sat across from him, flanking General Landry. None of them looked particularly pleased with the situation, or perhaps it had been the rather determined escort that kept them from wandering the city.

Woolsey sat at the head of the table, hands steepled before him, a spread of file folders laid out on the table in front of him. “That depends,” he allowed. “What do you have against protecting Earth?”

“This is not protecting Earth, this is a blatant attempt to steal IOA property,” Chapman said.

“How so?” Woolsey asked.

“You resigned your commission,” Landry said. “General O'Neill tells me it's sitting on the President's desk as we speak.”

“Ah, and with a new President he'll be too busy setting up a government and reeling from all the secrets he's been read into to bother with my resignation,” Woolsey said understandingly. “It'll be April by the time he gets the chance to read my reports. Has he been read into the Delta Green files yet? If not I suggest someone gives him the Cliff's Notes version as soon as possible. Then maybe the military would play less... fast and loose with Earth's safety.”

“There is no evidence of a problem of the scale you insist on,” Shen said.

Woolsey tapped his radio. “Banks, do we have live feed from the Google satellite? Good. Send it over.” The conference room screen descended from the ceiling and showed a live feed of the South Pacific. “Zoom in. All the way.” The satellite feed zoomed in on an empty patch of ocean, revealing it wasn't so empty. Several small ships sailed around an island that seemed to flicker and fuzz the data. “That is the risen city of R'lyeh.”

“How did you get this?” Landry demanded.

“It's a private satellite,” Woolsey assured. “Not one of Google's finest, I admit I can't zoom in on a license plate like I could with one of yours, but as a private corporation they have the right to rent out their time to anyone they so choose.”

“This is madness,” Chapman grumbled.

“No, that is madness,” Woolsey said, pointing at the screen. “I have been presenting evidence to this committee for the past month that Atlantis's presence on Earth would cause that. Now that that has happened, it is in Earth's best interests to get Atlantis off this planet to mitigate the damage.”

“We can defend ourselves, Richard,” Landry grumbled.

“Against us or that?” Woolsey asked. He shrugged. “It doesn't matter. Great Cthulhu is known for recorporating after severe trauma and Atlantis has taken previous nuclear strikes without damage. I'm unsure what kind of defense you'd consider appropriate.”

“We have options,” Landry insisted.

“I'm sure you do,” Woolsey dismissed. “Unfortunately, you have left me with only one option. Atlantis will be leaving this planet in two days, though we are prepared to leave earlier if necessary.”

“You'll never be allowed back on Earth!” Chapman shouted. “Any of you!”

“And everyone who remains in this city has already given the choice to leave,” Woolsey said. “Many key personnel took that opportunity. I'm sure Vandenberg can corroborate this. Those who remained are well aware of the risks, including the possibility that we'll never be allowed to return.”

“You really are insane,” Landry said.

“Not insane, determined. There are those of us who will miss Earth dearly but we cannot put our own emotional attachment above humanity's safety.”

“Dammit, Woolsey, this is not necessary!” Landry shouted, slamming his fist onto the table. Chapman and Shen jumped. “It's an island, not a problem! There is no reason for this!”

“There is every reason for this!” Woolsey snapped. “You! Have continuously ignored problems in favor of your own misguided stereotypes! You nearly lost the stargate and then ordered a manhunt for Dr. McKay instead of listening to evidence!”

“There were issues with mind control, what was I supposed to do?!” Landry demanded.

“Your job! Instead it took two Deep Ones, a cultist, and a colonel disobeying **your** orders to do your job for you! They're the only reason Earth still has a stargate and yet you continue to insist Dr. McKay was the problem!”

“He was! He was Singing! If he hadn't been there the Archivist--”

“If he hadn't been there the Archivist would have overloaded the gate and taken half the state of Colorado and the entire Stargate Program with it! And you didn't lift a finger to stop him.”

General Landry nearly growled with fury as Woolsey stood up and took a breath.

“I will not take orders from a man too blinded by his own bigotry to see the danger before him,” Woolsey said calmly. “I don't care if you're a general, a commandant, or the President himself. I am taking this city out of Earth's influence. I don't care if you agree with me, I don't care if you want to arrest me. I am not so enamored with politics that I'm willing to sacrifice my home planet for my supervisor's egos. Now, the three of you have a choice. You can leave. Or you can stay. But if you stay it will be your decision. But I do warn you. If we're too late in getting Atlantis off of Earth, your may very well have a longer lifespan here than in your home countries.”

“What on Earth is that?” Shen asked. She was looking at the satellite feed.

“Oh no,” Woolsey whispered.

Something large was squirming its way out of the warbling image of R'lyeh. Something large and monstrous.

There was a commotion in the gateroom as Major Lorne fell to his knees screaming.

Woolsey shoved his radio into his ear. “Dr. McKay, get out of the water now!”

_But I'm almost finished with... what the hell is that?_

“Dr. McKay, now! Someone opened the door at R'lyeh!”

_What?! Okay, just give me a--_

“Now!”

Everyone in the gatroom and the conference room winced at the sudden pressure in their own heads. As his thoughts cleared Woolsey could still hear McKay's Song as he ranted about needing to get these plates welded back on, Cthulhu or no, unless he wanted Atlantis to break up in the Void and they would all die horrible deaths by decompression.

“Everyone... on Earth... felt that...” Woolsey growled, glaring at Landry. To his credit the man seemed to realize how serious the situation was. Especially as the satellite feed showed the shape descending on the _USS Hi'lalakai_. The ship did not survive.

_Done! I'm coming up through the ballast tanks!_

“Get in here,” Woolsey snapped before tearing out his radio. He turned to face his unnerved guests. “Atlantis is leaving Earth,” he said. “File whatever protests you wish. But remember this. The quickest way to declassify the program is to force us to defend ourselves.” He left his own conference room, descending on the chaos of the gate room.

Major Lorne had stopped screaming. Instead he huddled on the floor, hands slowly grasping at his own head like slow-motion claws. Sergeant Davis was trying to get him to stand up, look up, anything other than lay curled on the floor quietly staring at horrors only he could see.

Dr. Zelenka had laptops open all around him as Ancient writing cascaded in warbling lines on the displays behind him. He kept twitching his head to try and shake away the headache. A single presence pressed against his mind, gently squeezed his will, dredging up promises and pleas made twenty years ago, reminding him of what he'd done once before.

Dr. Biro rushed into the gateroom with a medical field kit, trying to get to Lorne. She grabbed for the railing as her legs wobbled in odd ways and her head pounded. The room spun a couple of turns before she squinted her way past the vertigo and got her bearings. She made it to Lorne's side, fumbling with the penlight. Lorne's pupils were blown wide, so wide his iris seemed missing even under bright light. She fumbled in the kit for a glass flask.

Colonel Sheppard gripped the railing before he let go, forcing himself to stand. The pain wasn't bad, just a headache pressing behind his eyes, against the prefrontal cortex.

Dr. Beckett walked out of the transporter with a glass flask of his own in hand. He walked easily, though with a slight lilt that had nothing to do with his nonexistent headache. He took a pull from that flask before handing it to Colonel Sheppard. Sheppard gave him an odd look. Why on Earth was Beckett drinking Zelenka's Best while on duty? And why didn't Beckett feel worse?

Mr. Woolsey carefully made his way over to Zelenka's station. “We have to leave tonight,” he said. “Be ready for pre-flight at midnight.”

Zelenka blinked up at him. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook the cobwebs from his mind before nodding. “Ano, we will be ready,” he promised. “Power is good, shields will hold. Rodney has finished repairs on number 4 induction array, he tells me he thinks it will hold.”

“If it doesn't, what happens?” Woolsey asked.

Zelenka shrugged. “Is like patch on tire,” he said. “If patch goes, tire goes. It depends on what car is doing, no?”

“And if this 'patch' fails in hyperspace?”

“Is worse if array fails in sublight,” Zelenka said. “We can control descent out of hyperspace with no problem. If array fails in sublight we may issues with spin.”

“Do you have any idea what you're risking?”

Woolsey turned to see General Landry and the two IOA representatives behind him. Landry looked incredulous.

“I've risked more than this to defend Earth,” Woolsey said. “It's what we do.”

“You will never see Earth again,” Shen said.

“If you had to choose between your own safety and Earth's, what would you do?”

Chapman didn't like the idea but he gave a curt nod. Shen puffed herself up before deflating in an angry defeat. Landry didn't respond.

“You should get to your blackhawk,” Woolsey suggested. “The pre-flight countdown begins at midnight. You don't have much time to get back to Vandenberg if you're going to lodge that protest in time to try and stop us.”

Chuck switched his screens over to a series of breaking news report out of Los Angeles. One reported a 22 car pile-up on the 405, the drivers dragging their broken bodies from their cars as they screamed, tore at themselves, ran into oncoming traffic. Another reported a sudden riot in the South Hollywood district, a directionless mob streaming across the city leaving chaos and fire in their wake. A third gave a 20 second blurb about shootings in Skid Row before returning to normal TV.

“It's the creative members of society who will be most affected,” Woolsey said. “Artists, poets, writers, actors, they're the the most vulnerable. I'd lump mathematicians and engineers in there along with geniuses and madmen. The SGC must be a complete mess right about now. I can only hope they're on lockdown and the gate is safe.”

The transporter opened and a large creature crawled in, leaning heavily on a nearby wall. Gills palpitated and paws grasped at nothing as Dr. McKay tried to pull himself up to two feet, or maybe three. His chest heaved, shiny from his swim through the ballast tanks. _We have to... get out of here..._

“Relax, Dr. McKay, we've moved up the timetable for departure.”

Rodney nodded before lumbering over to Zelenka. He ignored the open stares of shock and horror from the IOA representatives.

“We are ready,” Radek promised. “We simply need darkness.”

Rodney growled. _Stupid planetary rotation taking its time. Stupid LA where nobody goes to bed. Stupid Cthulhu won't just give up and go back to sleep._ He focused his thoughts on Radek so no one else would hear. _Are you okay? Should I Sing? Will it help?_

Radek leaned back into Rodney's space, nuzzling the edge of a gill plate. “We will be fine,” he promised. "We are getting out of here on time."

_I hope you're right._

* * *

Untitled photograph of something streaking off into the night sky, taken from several miles away.

Associated Press – The Navy conducted a successful missile test off the coast of southern California last night at 3:30am local time.

* * *

ALIEN CITY RETURNS HOME

Front page photo of six bright engines roaring in the sky, supporting a kilometer-wide structure the shape of a snowflake. A glowing orange shield envelops it.

Interior photo of city lights twinkling in the middle of the ocean. Lights stretch out in six piers floating on the water.

Weekly World News – The alien city has left Earth for parts unknown.

Last night near midnight the city's invisibility field fell to reveal the city in all its glory. A source reported a single blackhawk helicopter accepting passengers before leaving north and east, likely toward Vandenberg Air Force Base. A small pirate ship, seen all along California's coast this past month, sat moored in a makeshift drydock on one of the city's many flat piers. Figures were observed running along making final adjustments before every door and window closed near 3:00am.

Strange rumbles sounded from the city and the US Navy escort vessel began to flee the scene. It lifted off half an hour later at 3:30am, leaving Earth for parts unknown.

This city has lurked in our waters for a month, held here by human interests who had no idea what they were dealing with. The inhabitants of this city surely didn't mean to rile up the local Deep Ones or raise R'lyeh from the depths. In fact, anonymous sources say the city has been trying to leave all month, desperate to get back to its home stars where it's needed in a war with an alien race beyond our meager comprehension. It's been those human interests who kept it here, though what sort of leverage humanity could have over an alien city this reporter has no idea.

Now they're gone and R'lyeh has already shown seismic activity, signs the city is about to sink once more. We have been exposed to great horrors and terrible tragedies as a result of the monsters that lurk in the depths of our own oceans. Yet the alien city's loss is bittersweet. We have learned much about our own world as a result of these visitors. Ours is not the safely controlled world we think it is. Instead we play host to great power that could lead us to great madness or limitless wonders.

We're the ones who dictate whether madness or wonders lie in our oceans. It is our decision to accept the potential in ourselves and our world, or to reject it and flee into a new dark age.

It is our decision.

 


	12. Now what?

Erica woke up groggy and slow. Her neck hurt, slumped forward against her chest. Wait...

That was odd. So was the tension in her arms, the tingling numbness of her sleeping butt, the rough scratch of rope against her wrists...

Her eyes shop open and she stared out into the faded blur of black cloth over her eyes. She'd been kidnapped!

“I see you're awake,” said a voice.

Erica turned toward the voice and tried to act like her supervisors told her. 'You might be taken into custody,' they said. 'Make sure know your rights,' they said. 'They can't hold you for exercising your rights as a reporter,' they said. Yeah, right. This wasn't like being shoved into the back of an unmarked car at a scene, the last thing she remembered she'd been in her own house! In her bed. Someone broke into her bedroom and now she'd never be seen--

The black cloth was lifted from her eyes. She recognized her kidnapper, the dark-skinned Man in Black who accompanied her usual contact.

And he had the audacity to smile at her. It even reached his eyes for a moment. “I'm sorry about this, but for some reason this is still the accepted way of talking to you people?”

Erica glared. She looked him up and down and sneered. He wasn't even dressed right. He didn't have sunglasses or even a tie. He wore a cheap blue suit with a shoulder holster. He looked like an FBI agent from TV.

“Anyway, I'm supposed to talk to you about your articles,” the man continued. “The official line is that there are no Men in Black, no alien city, no R'lyeh, no danger to the public from things they don't understand, yadda yadda. I'm also supposed to give you the unofficial line, though I think you already know this one.” He crouched in front of her where she was tied to the chair and looked her straight in the eye. “It's all true.”

“I know that,” Erica snapped. “It's hard not to notice.”

“Especially with my fellow agent feeding you stories for the past month?”

Erica snapped her mouth shut and turned away.

“Oh, I know about that. He's been doing it with our organization's approval since the issue with the Trust, ah, I mean, 'government mind control' and the Kinsey affair.”

Erica stared in disbelief. She'd been used?

“It's still all true. It's why we bought the _Weekly World News_ when you were having financial problems. Oh, don't be surprised. I'm sure you suspected. Scrimping and scrounging for printing fees, the paper going under, no way out, layoffs all around, and then suddenly a mysterious organization comes in and now you have a travel budget, a salary, co-workers, story ideas coming from someone up top. Of course it had to be us. Or aliens. Or maybe both.”

Erica shut her eyes and took a deep breath. She twisted her wrists, feeling the bite of rope against her skin to remind her this was real. She'd been kidnapped by an agent and his organization owned her, owned her work, the entire paper... “Why?” she asked.

The man stood up and paced the small room. She noticed a limp in his step, perhaps an old injury? Something she could use to escape?

“The Stargate Program is too big to hide anymore,” he admitted. “Declassification will be a nightmare. Imagine you're a civilian, ignorant and oblivious, and suddenly you hear there are aliens. Aliens on Earth, they've infiltrated the government before, all world religions are their doing, all sorts of aliens benign and neutral and hostile. You hear Earth has been attacked directly more than once by parasitic snakes, by evil robots, by time travelers, by life-sucking space vampires, by intergalactic Jehovah's Witnesses. Greys were real but they're all dead now, mass suicide as a species and now we have their technology because they thought we made cute Vikings a thousand years ago. We're renting a wormhole machine from the Russians that we run on a 15 year old supercomputer because of budget concerns. Worse, we're the direct result of alien intervention and up to 5% of humans have alien genes that let them control alien technology with their minds.”

Erica's eyes went wide. She hadn't known most of that. No one at the _Weekly World News_ even suspected...

“The program can't stay hidden for its own safety. It can't be revealed to the public without starting a slew of civil wars. That's where you come in.”

“Me?”

“The _Weekly World News_ has been used to gauge civilian reaction for six years now.”

Erica thought about six years prior. “The Kinsey affair?” she realized. “There was... it affected the Vice President. Someone infiltrated that far...” She swallowed heavily. If she hadn't already known she'd be terrified. As it was she couldn't stop the shudder that wracked her frame.

“You've been assigned a contact,” the agent said. “Someone to hand you stories and give you tips on spinning them. Someone to slip you pictures when you need proof. Someone to get you into scenes and get you out in ways that look legitimate.”

“I had that.”

“You did. But he wasn't official. Now your contact is.”

“So where is he?” Erica asked. “Richard's been my contact for years now.”

The agent turned to stare at a wall. “He's... You have to understand, our job is not easy.”

Erica slumped forward, eyes downcast. “He's dead, isn't he?”

The agent's laughter caught her by surprise and she glared at him. Richard had been almost a friend at times, how dare he.

“He's, let's say he's exiled,” the agent allowed. “After all, he did tell his superiors to go to hell and left the Milky Way on that 'alien city'. He's not dead, not by a long shot.”

Erica sat limp and shocked. She looked up at the agent, not sure if she could trust him.

“He's on his way to the Pegasus Dwarf Irregular Galaxy and I sincerely hope he makes it there. I spent a year in that city as a Marine and it is the most beautiful exile I can imagine." The agent sighed wistfully. “I envy him that. But... I had my chance.” He crouched down next to Erica again, this time undoing her bonds. “We should start over. Call me Bates.”

“Nice to meet you, Bates,” Erica said. This was all so overwhelming. “What now?”

“Now we blow this joint,” Bates offered. “You look like you need coffee.”

*****

The first thing he noticed was the pain.

It was gone.

Kavanagh opened his eyes to a world bright and blurry. Someone was shaking him, a hand grasping his shoulder under the comforting weight of gold bindings. He was laying on the floor of an empty room, that he could tell.

“Archivist, get up.”

Kavanagh brushed away hands and dragged himself to a sitting position. Ah, there it was, the pain was back. It was different this time, less like the oppressive will of an incomprehensible master and more like sore muscles and bruises. Wait... He blinked up at the voice who roused him, looked into the ruby red eyes of Colonel Carter. He squinted, trying to figure out if the red was really there or if he was still hallucinating.

“R'lyeh has sunk,” Carter said. “Great Cthulhu returned to his house to sleep.”

Kavanagh wasn't sure what to say about that. He opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was a simple “Oh.”

Carter looked around the room and grinned. “You really did a number on this place,” she said, sounding both amused and impressed. “I'd say it's worse than Daniel's, but he mostly just wrote on the walls in scratches and blood.”

Kavanagh still wasn't sure what was going on. The last thing he remembered was Dr. Jackson and Colonel Carter locking themselves in padded rooms, ordering him to do the same. He hadn't, insisting on going back to work, giving a lecture on Atlantis. As the Archivist he needed to do what he could to document Great Cthulhu's awakening and how His presence affected the world. There were pages upon pages of notes and then a screaming that might have been his own and that oppressive Presence...

“I seem to remember ordering you to a padded cell,” Carter admonished. “Instead you had to be dragged here in your straitjacket. You got out of it, by the way.”

Kavanagh looked around the room, only now seeing the padding rent from the walls as if by an animal's claws. He glanced down at his hands, saw fingernails torn and felt their gentle throbbing pain. He looked back up, idly wondering why the Colonel wasn't angry over disobeyed orders, why Great Cthulhu went back voluntarily, whether he'd scratched anything interesting into the walls.

“Archivist, are you all right?”

Kavanagh looked up at Carter, blinking like he still wasn't sure about reality. “It's been a long day,” he finally admitted. His voice sounded like his throat felt, ripped to shreds by his own screaming. “What happened?”

“Atlantis left,” Carter said. “Representative Shen filed the formal protest but it wasn't processed until after the city was gone.”

“They're... gone...”

“For good, it sounds like,” Carter allowed. “Woolsey burned every bridge he had with the IOA to do it. I don't think any of them are coming back.”

Kavanagh nodded. “Makes sense,” he rasped. “It's too dangerous for the Heretic Nest here on Earth. Atlantis is full of humans too wrapped up in McKay's Song to care about their old home.”

Carter nodded. “Caldwell wants to head out immediately to find them.”

“And my point's proven. He's more of a thrall than he admits.”

“The _Daedalus_ won't be returning to Pegasus,” Carter said, sitting down next to Kavanagh where he stared at his handiwork torn into the canvas walls. “They'll be permanently assigned to the Milky Way. I don't think the IOA, Delta Green, or the NID will let Caldwell set foot on Earth ever again.”

Kavanagh shrugged. “Small price,” he said. “He has his ship. He has hyperspace. I know it's not the same but the equations of hyperspace have a Song all of their own. Who knows, he might learn to hear it.”

Carter smiled. “Perhaps he already has.”

Kavanagh, the Archivist, looked on with strangely blurry eyes seeking patterns torn in the walls. If he looked hard enough he could see words, the spiky Ancient shorthand used for notes on Atlantis. The words were garbled, single phrases without context, a promise of knowledge and power offered to him by something else.

It took him long moments to realize the lights were off. They'd never been turned on. He turned to Carter with shock, surprise, and not a little frisson of anticipation.

She was laughing at him.

“No, you're no hybrid,” she assured him. “Your x-rays look normal enough. I assume it happened because your name was already in the Black Book, it makes small changes easier. Consider yourself lucky, most cultists touched by Great Cthulhu's dreams come away looking much worse.”

Kavanagh checked himself all over. No, he still looked human. Hands and feet, no tentacles anywhere, no scales or vestigial wings. Only his eyes marked him as something else with their predator's green glow. He slowly relaxed next to her, leaning into her as a deep calm overtook his mind.

He fancied he could still hear Deep One Song, a hundred Hydras calling to him even as the gate Sang Yog-Sothoth's echoing symphony.

The cacophony was comforting.

*****

It was over.

It would never be over.

For two weeks Jeannie Miller had sat at her husband's bedside and held his hand while he thrashed and whimpered through delirium. For two weeks she kept her daughter home from school, tried to keep them both safe from their own twisted dreams.

For two weeks R'lyeh sat above the waves while Cthulhu's dreams reached around the world to torture the sensitive and the powerful. To torment her and her family.

But now it was over. And it would never end.

Kaleb awoke and the hospital sent him home. Madison recovered from her nightmares and was eager to go back to school. Jeannie's own dreams faded but the physical changes stayed. The _Weekly World News_ showed up in their mailbox every Monday but there were no great revelations for her family. Alien cities, Great Old Ones, space vampires, these were known.

Jeannie didn't want them to be.

She still wanted it to be like it used to be, when she thought she was human, when she didn't have to worry about her humanity, Kaleb's sanity, Madison's future. When Meredith kept all the weird with him in another galaxy.

She didn't want the dreams, the image of Atlantis submerged at the bottom of an alien sea, of strange creatures scuttling through the abyssal silt, of familiar Deep Ones swimming the city's corridors. She didn't want to know that it was her brother who Sang the Mother's Song, who pulled them all there, to that city, to that alien sea. The fact that it was still Atlantis, that research never ended and the city still traded through the stargate, that somehow made the idea more disturbing.

She didn't want the Change, the webbing between her fingers that limited her dexterity, the paleness to her belly, the night vision that kept improving even as she grew a little more nearsighted every day, the dry patches of skin that thickened and flaked away to reveal silvery scales. She didn't even want the purr that rose unbidden from her throat when Kaleb pinned her to the bed and bit her on the back of her neck, growling playfully as hands roamed, lips tasted, hips rolled, skin tingled.

Nor did she want him to stop right in the middle. She growled at him, a wordless order to get back on task, but he didn't. Instead he laid down next to her, hands roaming her spine, cupping the curve of her rear, his fingers dipping between her legs. “What's wrong?” he asked.

Jeannie let herself drop flat on the bed and muffled her voice in the pillow of her arms. She wiggled her hips, one last attempt to distract his question.

Kaleb kissed her shoulder. “You can tell me.”

It wasn't working. She huffed and murred. “I don't want to be different,” she finally said.

Kaleb draped an arm over her back and pulled her close.

“I don't want to be like this,” she said, the rant spilling out of her. “I'm a monster! I'm a thing, a creature, I'm just like those things that almost took over the world! I'm one of them, Kaleb, and I don't want to be. I just want things to go back to the way they were. I could be human again and I wouldn't have to worry so much, I mean, what happens if someone finds out? I could get kidnapped again or worse, what if they went after Maddie? Or you? I don't want anything to happen to us but it's too late, it's already happening and it's all because of me!”

Kaleb just held her as the words ran together, bouncing off of each other into a familiar worry. “It's already happened,” he agreed. “And there's no changing that. We just have to live with the consequences.”

“How can you stand this?” Jeannie asked, blinking night-green eyes at him.

He didn't flinch, didn't turn away, it never occurred to him. Instead he smiled sweetly before kissing her. “Because whatever happens, I'm yours.”

Jeannie huffed and rolled over onto her back. Kaleb threw an arm and a leg over her, curling around her protectively. “Nothing you can say is going to make me leave,” he continued. “I know it's dangerous and I know you're changing. And I love you all the same. No matter what happens, I'll always be there. For Maddie. For you. And for this one.” He reached down and gently grabbed her belly.

Jeannie leaned against him and purred.

*****

The induction array lasted 9 days.

It failed in hyperspace, allowing for a controlled descent out of hyperspace into the diffuse outskirts of the Pegasus Galaxy. Luckily their descent brought them out into an open cluster remnant, a dozen stars within a few light days of their position. Three yellow dwarfs, seven red dwarfs, two white dwarfs and a neutron star that spun so slowly it was barely noticeable. On top of that were the brown dwarfs swarming like lost and lonely planets, circling wide orbits around the stars that still burned.

It narrowed their options.

_These... are horrible prospects._

“There are a few possibilities,” Zelenka allowed as he and Rodney searched through the long range sensor data. The yellow dwarfs were bereft of useful planets, all of them ringed by hot jupiters. One even had a cthonian planet, the core of a gas giant stripped bare by the relentless heat of its star. There was nothing for them here. That left the red dwarfs.

_Red dwarfs tend to tidally lock their habitable planets._

“That is not the end of things.”

_No but it will be if we're stuck on an eyeball world._

Zelenka looked confused at the term before Rodney pointed out a planet in the data. It was a tidally locked snowball planet with a single ocean at the subsolar point. Water circled in the bowl of ice, lit by the red star at constant zenith. “It has no oxygen,” Zelenka protested. “If we cannot breathe we may as well not land.”

_So what should we do, hit that brown dwarf? It has the right temperature and density, we could live on the surface of a star._

“That... would be impressive,” Zelenka admitted. “But point stands. It has no air. I would like air.”

“So would I,” Sheppard shouted at them from across the gateroom.

Rodney and Zelenka both glared at him before returning to their argument. “This one looks promising. It has air.”

_It has no magnetic field._

“It has induction field. Atmosphere is thick and star has strong magnetic field. It should protect from extrasolar radiation.”

_I don't know... It's oxygen is a little low... And CO 2 is almost 2%... And that's a flare star!_

“It is better candidate than others in cluster. It has ozone envelope, is enough to save us from strong flares.”

_I don't know... If we have to..._

The planet was not ideal. It was a super-earth, large and rocky and covered with a deep ocean. It's gravity was high, almost one and a half times Earth's. The atmosphere was thick and dense at 8.3 bar. There was a constant wind that dragged the ocean and atmosphere around the tidally locked world, dragged by a tidal pull due to the outer planet orbiting in a 2 to 1 resonance. A great band of clouds circled the equator, subsolar storms spread out by that constant wind.

Land was rare, arcs of volcanic islands jutting out from the ocean stained black with strange plankton. The islands on the day side sported long fronds of land plants reaching black leaves into the twilight sky while the islands on the night side glowed red, blue, orange with lava flows and burning sulfur. Aurorae danced in the sky, radiation bouncing along the ozone envelope to burn bright red and eerie green.

The twilight world was not their ideal choice. It was their only choice. Atlantis splashed into the ocean and began her long circuit around through day, night, and day again. The red sun rose and sank as Atlantis drifted along the stationary world.

Life continued.

As Rodney ordered his scientists to restart their experiments, as Sheppard reorganized gate teams, as Todd walked through the gate with a haunted look in his eyes, as arrangements were made for safe gate travel despite the pressure differences on the other side, as the North Pier Network was brought back online and life returned to a new normal, they all wondered.

Was it the right call? Might they have gotten farther into Pegasus if they'd waited that extra day before taking off? Was leaving Earth the right thing to do? Would humanity recover from the revelations about their own world?

But those questions would not be answered.

The decision was made. They would not contact Earth. Not yet.

* * *

SPACE VAMPIRES

Front page photo of a blue-skinned man with pits on the sides of his face, bright white hair, and long pointed teeth. His hands are raised in menace with sharp claws and toothed maws in the palms of his hands. It's black and white and an obvious fake.

Interior photos show multiple sketches done by talented artists in the style of police sketches. They all show various insectile aliens with the same distinguishing features: white hair, long claws, mouths in their hands.

Weekly World News – There are space vampires out there and they hunger for our life force.

Created in an ancient alien experiment, these space vampires are hybrid creatures blending something that might once have been human with just enough insect to make them monsters. They live in organic hive ships, a single queen attended to by male consorts and many sexless worker drones. These hive ships travel from world to world, seeking out worlds lush with life that they can feed upon. They glut themselves like space locusts before they hibernate and the hive ship moves on. The hive may spend decades or even centuries in interstellar space, the crew hibernating as the queen and her consorts stay awake, breeding the next generation of vampire queens while guiding the hive ship to its next target.

Earth was almost a target.

Avid readers will remember the alien city that floated in our seas and awakened Great Cthulhu. That alien city was not here by accident. They were hunting a hive ship that had happened to find Earth. That hive was destroyed and we will have spectacular meteor showers for years to come as the debris slowly falls into our atmosphere.

This reporter had the opportunity to speak to a denizen of that alien city before it left. They were most anxious to leave and not just because Great Cthulhu was a threat to them as well as us. No, they claimed there were other hives out there, other worlds also under threat from these space locusts, worlds that depended on them. The humans who refused to allow the city to leave were just trying to protect Earth in their own misguided way. After all, we didn't know we were a target. We didn't know we needed to defend ourselves.

Now we know. And these hives are not difficult to destroy. As has been said, a backpack full of C4 thrown into an engine works well enough for most purposes.

This reporter never learned the name of this species of life-sucking space vampire. However, we do need to call them something. We welcome discussion on our website, [www.weeklyworldnews.com](http://www.weeklyworldnews.com/). As of time of printing, we here at the Weekly World News offices favor the term 'Wraith'.


End file.
